The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [309]
Across the street he watched a well-set-up fellow in a loud, snappy gray suit, with a girl whose slim, tall but meaty figure was wrapped in a stylish blue cloth coat, and when the fellow talked, Studs could hear her ringing laughter. Happy... If they could be happy, so could he. Damn it if he couldn’t!
“Look, Bill, two for-rent signs in this building. We ought to stop in on our way back. All along here there are for-rent signs, and it would be fun to look at them.”
“We don’t have to. We can have a big apartment in our building.”
“But it’s fun,” she said.
But maybe these people weren’t in danger of losing every penny they owned in the world, and they hadn’t had a run of tough luck about their health.
“Bill, dear, when are you going to let me teach you bridge as you promised me you would?”
“I don’t like the game,” he answered in an annoyed masculine whine.
He had settled the question by telling her he didn’t care about bridge, and here she was at it, showing no respect for his wishes.
“How can you say you don’t like it, when you’ve never played, and don’t know it, or how much fun it can be? You ought to be at least tolerant enough about it to wait and see how it is before you say, like a gruff old bear, that you don’t like it.”
“It’s the game for tea-hounds and parlor athletes.”
“Bill, you’re just being silly. Nice fellows play bridge, and you’re just trying to act like a great big tough guy. It’s so silly.”
“I couldn’t learn it. I’ve never been good at cards, and bridge has too much to do with figures,” he said, shifting his defense because he was stumped for a reply even if he did know he was right. And wouldn’t he feel like a sap, sitting down at a bridge table?
“You’ll like it a lot, I know you will, if you’ll let yourself learn it.”
“Well, maybe I will,” he said to change the subject and postpone having to make a definite promise..
They turned a corner, and saw the low, sand-stoned, widefacaded church with its broad steps and the large space of sidewalk before it. Pat Carrigan, in a group down from the church front, waved and Studs waved in response.
“But, Bill dear, will you start learning bridge with me this week?”
“Hello, Studs.”
Studs was grateful, for the unexpected presence and solicitous greeting of Johnny O’Brien, and they shook hands. Studs noticed something familiar in the round, pleasing face of the expensively dressed blond girl on Johnny’s arm, and he saw that Johnny was rather pale and thin in the cheeks.
“You ought to know my wife, Studs, Harriet Hayes from St. Patrick’s.”
“Sure, Roslyn Hayes’ sister. And this is Catherine Banahan, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.”
“How do you do.”
“How do you do.”
“How do you do.”
“Yes, I remember you, and how is Loretta?” Harriet O’Brien asked.
“She’s married now to Phil Rolfe, know him?” Studs said, and he wasn’t sure whether or not the O’Briens had really frowned at the mention of Phil’s name.
“He’s a bookie, isn’t he?” Johnny said snootily.
“Yes.”
“Gee, Studs, I’m glad to see you, and how is everything going?” Johnny asked, his tone of voice changing.
“Fair, Johnny, fair. How’s tricks by you?” Studs said, noticing that Catherine and Harriet had fallen into a conversation about the weather.
“I’m with Dad. We’re in the coal business, and while as a whole the coal business is pretty shot, we’ve been more than holding up our end of the stick. In fact, considering conditions, we’re doing well.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Good.”
“Well, you see, Studs, these mine strikes they’ve been having these last months have helped us. In fact, they have saved our neck. You see, we had our yards full of coal and couldn’t do much with it. And these strikes creating some shortage, we’re setting pretty, and the price of coal has gone up a little. That’s helped us a lot, and I’m hoping the Reds who’ve been agitating the miners, according to some newspaper accounts, keep the strikes going a little more. It’s certainly a godsend to O’Brien’s Coal company. And then we do a big business with convents and churches and Catholic schools.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it, Johnny.