The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [278]
“I’m a lawyer now, Studs. Graduated from St. Vincent’s. I went nights and passed my bar exams last summer. I’m lined up in a promising job with a good law firm, and even if I do say so, things look pretty rosy.”
“Married, Austin?” Studs asked.
“Not yet. I guess I better knock on wood, huh, Studs?”
“Studs is beating you to the gun,” Martin said.
“Studs, don’t tell me you’re married?”
“No, but he gave her the ring,” Martin said.
“Well, well! Congratulations, Studs. Who’s the lucky girl?” Austin said, enthusiastically pumping Studs’ hand.
“I don’t think you know her. Her name is Catherine Banahan.”
“Well, that gives her the proper credentials. Nothing like an Irish girl.”
“Yes, McAuliffe, the lad’s in love,” Martin smirked, making Studs show his embarrassment with nervousness.
“How’s the folks?” Austin asked like a fellow trying to make conversation.
“Pretty good.”
“Oh, say, by the way, did you hear that Father Gilhooley has been changed to a parish back of the yards, and Saint Patrick’s has been turned over to some order of priests, but I can’t remember which one it is.”
“Is the school still running?” Studs asked.
“Yes, but the pupils are all jiggabooes, and the parish is very poor now, I guess,” Austin lamented.
“Gilly was always a puzzle to us altar boys. When he said mass, he always drank so much more wine than the other priests did. We always expected him to go staggering off the altar,” Martin laughed.
“You know, it was a shame the way that parish went down,” Austin said, turning toward Studs after frowning at Martin. “Father Gilhooley must have taken it hard, because of the parish and the beautiful new church he built, for it was his life’s work, and then it was no sooner up than his people moved away on him. My mother met him downtown not so long ago, and she said he had aged a great deal. And say, I saw Jim Clayburn the other day. He’s put on a lot of weight, and he’s taken over his father’s law practice. Seems to be prospering.”
“He was a nice fellow. Tell him I asked for him if you see him again. See anybody else? How’s Art Hahn?”
“I haven’t seen Art for about a year. He’d just lost his job then and was selling vacuum cleaners. And I saw Father McCarthy a few weeks ago. He’s an assistant at some parish out West.”
“His brother, Monk McCarthy, is getting along, too.”
“Every time I see anybody from Fifty-eighth Street, Studs, I always say to myself how times change, how they change.”
“Yeah, that’s so, Austin,” Studs said weightily.
“And Martin, the way you’ve sprung up, you look like Studs’ big brother now. I suppose one of these days we’ll be hearing the wedding bells ring out for you,” Austin said, laughing.
“Not this lad.”
“I don’t doubt that Studs once said the same thing.”
“One in the family at a time,” said Martin.
They stood in an awkward silence, talked out.
“Well, boys, I’ll be seeing you around again. Got to run along and turn in. It’s been a hard day in court, and tomorrow I got to go out to Carmody, Indiana, and collect a bill.”
“So long, Austin.”
“Sappy, I’d say,” Martin said.
“Oh, Austin’s all right. He’s a smart fellow. He always studied a lot, and got himself a good education, and now he’s reaping the benefits of it.”
“Education or not, he’s a dope to me,” Martin said. Walking along with him, Studs began to see in his kid brother a lot of what he’d once been.
V
“I see we have the Lonigans in person with us tonight,” Pat Carrigan said, smiling as Studs and Martin approached the group of fellows who idled and talked front of the chain drug store at the northeast corner of the busy, well-lit intersection of Seventy-first and Jeffrey.
“Hello, Pat. How’s it going tonight?” Studs said, pleased to be in a group of fellows and in the midst of a little noise and light after the dullness of home. He thought, too, that he liked Pat, had liked him in the old days when Pat was one of the second generation of punks coming around the corner.
“Know all the boys, Studs?” Pat asked, a note of solicitude in his voice. “Boys, this is Studs Lonigan. Studs, Don Bryan, Al Schuber, Jack Allison, Steve O