The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [288]
“There might be something to it,” Phil said profoundly.
“Uhhuh!” Studs grunted weightily.
“You know, Studs, a lot of fellows I’ve known from Fifty-eighth Street and from the old days at Louise Nolan’s dance hall are hard up. Many of them have come around to see me asking for jobs.”
“I suppose so.”
“And, hell, I can’t do anything for ‘em, much as I’d like to. You see, for the protection I get from the law I’ve got to take care of all the fellows who are sent to me from the Hall. I hire all my men that way. Every time I’ve got to hire a new man, I call up and they send me somebody. I got to keep out of trouble myself, you know.”
“So that’s the way it’s run, huh?”
“Yeah! But here, Studs, have another cigarette,” Phil said, approaching him.
“Thanks.”
“Another thing, Studs. I’ve been thinking a lot about the World’s Fair we’re going to have in ‘33. That’s going to be a great thing for business and the city, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Studs answered after studious reflection.
“By then I hope we’ll be sitting pretty.”
“But, Phil, dear, if we want to have money saved up then, or ever, we really ought to save. You know we’ve been spending a dreadful amount of money.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right. You know, Studs, after you get married, money goes faster than you think. That car we bought, furniture, clothes, and the upkeep of a home and bookies is damn high. Cops, politicians, high salaries, because you know, as I just said, all the jobs I have to give out are politicians’ jobs.”
“Yes, we’ll have to economize. And Phil, dear, I’m going to watch Marie. I’ve been letting her do the buying and I’m sure she is stealing on me. You can never trust a nigger.”
“I guess not.”
“And she gets so much better treatment than most maids do. Why, Fran is shocked that I pay her eight and a half dollars a week these days when maids are so easy to get.”
Studs yawned. His glance, drifting toward Loretta, caught hers. She smiled, an understanding smile.
“But Studs doesn’t care about such things, do you, Studs?” Loretta said.
“Let’s have some music,” Phil said, dialing in upon the crooning of Just a Gigolo. Studs leaned back in his chair, bored during the announcement between songs. He wondered whether when he married Catherine, would they spend many evenings like this, getting fed up, talking just to make talk. And his stock, down four points, eighty times four made three twenty lost if he sold it. Suppose his father asked for the two thousand bucks. Could Phil loan him the difference?
“Well, Phil, I suppose if things keep rolling your way, you’ll be coming out one of these days with a bank account to choke an elephant.”
“No danger, Studs. I got lots of expenses. But now that we’re settled, and got our car and furniture, I hope to save a little.”
“Fran and Carroll are much better off than we are,” Loretta said.
It dawned on Studs. Preparing excuses in advance. He checked an angry impulse to sound off, and thought that yes, Phil was spending everything. He could just remember the Jewboy who used to be so tight in the old days and sold clothes to all his friends, he could just see him spending all his dough. He yawned.
“And now I present to you Mr. Horgath Kelson, the internationally renowned economist.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, these days many people, from the man on the corner, to radicals, politicians who are amongst the outs rather than the ins, and even a few business leaders, are issuing gloomy statements. If we were to believe these, they would convince us all that we are whistling in a graveyard.”
“Oh, get some music, Loretta.”
“Yes, but let’s just get what he’s got to say. He’s a famous man,” Phil said.
“Who is he?”
“Oh, he runs some kind of service advising business men. I’ve heard of him.”
“I never did before,” Studs said.