The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [303]
“Three cheers for Eddie McCarthy.”
And these might have been for Studs Lonigan.
IV
“Mr. McCarthy,” Judge Gorman began with an air of helplessness, while McCarthy tried to act natural in his red robe, “we depend on you to uphold and enforce the dignity of our Order with courage. We expect that you will be of great assistance to us by acting as a sort of liaison man between us who are older members, and perhaps more set in our ways, and all these new members whom we are welcoming today, and whose initiation we will shortly begin, now that this unfortunate trouble has been cleared up.”
McCarthy gestured assuredly with a sliding motion of his hands, and a nod, causing a twinkle to come into the Judge’s eyes.
“Now, gentlemen!” Judge Gorman began after the subsiding of another roar, his squeaking voice rising like a slightly rusty echo.
A revolver shot echoed like a loud explosion. The Judge wheeled around and looked to the rear. Momentarily, he stood like a statue. McCarthy followed the Judge with bewildered eyes. A current of tenseness seemed to run through the candidates. Studs closed his fists, leaned forward, hungry for more excitement, hoping that something had happened that would give him a chance to come forward more prominently than McCarthy. A fear of unknown danger cancelled his hopes.
“What was that? My God!” Judge Gorman exclaimed in a throbbing voice.
A man in rolled shirt-sleeves burst through the black-hooded ranks, rushed to the stand, spoke low and hurriedly to the Judge, and McCarthy, listening, revealed by his concerned brow that something serious had happened. The Judge’s hand rose automatically to his forehead. He stumbled several feet backward as if he were on the verge of fainting.
The candidates impulsively drew more tightly together.
“How frightful! Lock all the doors! Lock all the doors!” Judge Gorman cried out in a fretful voice, wiping his face with a handkerchief as he spoke.
Studs tried to get closer to the stand, but could make no progress through the closely pressed backs. Jesus, what had happened?
“Gentlemen, I am distressed. The sergeant-at-arms, Mr. Kevin Joyce, who was the provocateur of the regrettable occurrences here this afternoon, contrite and disgraced by his actions and expulsion from the Order of Christopher ... has just... shot himself.”
The words were like jolts of electricity, and there was scarcely a sound or a movement from the candidates. They waited, creatures of the words and commands of Judge Gorman. Studs thought that it was as exciting as a mystery movie. He’d never been present before when so many exciting things had happened one on top of the other. He had to do something to get in the thick of it. And that man might be dead. Dead! Jesus!
“Gentlemen, please pardon me if I am a bit upset, and please be patient a moment until I can collect myself, and think of what we can do in this crisis. Such a tragedy has never before occurred in the glorious history of our Order.”
Watching the Judge sympathetically, Studs thought of how tough a spot he was in, how glad he was that he wasn’t in the Judge’s shoes. And it was a scandal that couldn’t be kept out of the paper.
RIOT AND SUICIDE AT O. OF C. INITIATION
The Order and the Church, too, would get a black eye from this. If it had only not happened!
He glanced around him at the drawn, anxious, worried faces. His anger was suddenly roused at a fellow who was smiling superciliously. How could a guy smile like that? Hell, this was serious.