The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [277]
“I’d like to get barrelled tonight,” Martin said as they stepped out of the building.
“I’m off of that stuff for a while,” Studs said seriously.
“You ought to be.”
“Well, I did drink my share of the world’s bum gin in my day,” Studs said proudly.
“You’re beginning to talk and act like my grandfather. Back in them there days before Abe Lincoln was shot, we sure was hot stuff, huh, kid?”
“With my heart, I can’t afford to be taking risks.”
Martin extended a package of cigarettes, and both of them lit up.
“I remember that Christmas morning when you came home with a sprained ankle, smelling a few degrees worse than a sewer. Remember? Fran was so hot and bothered because you’d been sassy and threatened to poke her boy friend’s teeth down his throat. Boy, the old homestead sure was no place for peace and meditation that day.”
“Yeah,” Studs smiled, “that was the night we kidnapped Vine Curley to get his car, and told him we were taking him to church, and went out to Burnham. And the police raided the place when I had my pants down and I jumped out of a second-story window to get away.. .”
“I know the story,” Martin said, bored.
Getting too snotty for a kid brother, Studs thought, his face suddenly grim.
“You know, when I first found out about how you’d get shellacked, I thought it was pretty terrible. When I was a punk in grammar school, I thought that drinking and laying a cutey ticketed you straight for hell. But I learned a few things since.”
“And so did I. I learned you can knock hell out of yourself with too much booze.”
“Thus speaketh the veteran of a thousand gin brawls.”
“No, kid, I’m serious. A guy’s got to watch his step a little. I know I had my fun, but you can’t play that kind of a game forever if you want to live to tell the story.”
“You had your fun, didn’t you? You’re only young once, and you got a right to have a good time. What else do you get out of life? Look at the gaffer! What’s he got now? Goddamn near nothing. Well, I’m not going to sweat my can off working and saving just to end up like that. When the game’s called on me, all right, boys, I was no sap. I had my fun, here’s my hand, goodbye, and it’s your turn to carry on. That’s my idea.”
Looking covertly at Martin, Studs suddenly felt slated for the ash-can. And he wanted to tell Martin a few things, how he ought to tone down a little. Cocky punk, too! Well, in his day Studs Lonigan had shown them plenty. The kid would have to do plenty of travelling if he even wanted to catch up to where he could see the dust Studs Lonigan had left behind him. But that was behind him, and it was ahead of Martin. Martin didn’t realize what a break he had gotten by being born later, having so much more ahead of him.
“You bet, Studs, this idea of sweating your tail off with work and carefulness is the undiluted crap. With me, a bird in the hand and a cutey in a bed is worth dozens of them in a bush you can’t reach,” Martin said, while ahead of them, at Seventy-first and Jeffrey, they heard warning bells from the Illinois Central, and saw the train gates lower, red lanterns dangling from them. An electric train shot across the street and the gates were raised.
“I was pretty cockeyed last Saturday night,” Martin boasted.
“Seems to me that’s the same story nearly every Saturday night.”
“Umm, now and then.”
“Mostly now, instead of then, huh?” Studs said, and they laughed.
“By the time Saturday rolls around, a guy’s seen all the shows he wants to see for a week, and he hangs around with the boys, feeling dumb, wanting something to happen, tired of everybody’s bum jokes that he’s heard before. So he figures, well, the way to make things happen is to get a bottle, and he does. So he gets snozzled and has some fun. And last Saturday, the cutey I had! Umm! I made her, too, only I was so cockeyed it wasn’t no fun. But I’m figuring to fix that baby again…”
“Oh, hello, Austin,” Studs said.
“Why, hello Studs. And how are you, Martin?” Austin McAuliffe, replied, his voice jolly.
“How things going?” Studs asked, noticing that Austin seemed much the same as ever, thin, narrow-faced, well-dressed. Austin looked like he was making the grade. But then, why should he feel ashamed, with his Imbray investment?