The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [315]
“It’s the wrong time, Bill.”
Studs agreed with a meek nod. He could see that the old man had been hurt, all right. Lonigan turned on the radio.
Did you ever hear Pete go tweet
tweet, tweet on his piccolo?
No? Well you’ve missed a lot...
Lonigan did not listen, but sat down in his chair, brooding, and forgetting, with that same blank, sleepy look on his face, that Studs had noticed so frequently these last months.
A snappy jazz band broke out, stirring Studs, making him want a good time, fun, dancing, drinking, whoopee. The loud fast rhythm seemed to be in his nerves. He beat his foot on the carpet, swayed his shoulders.
“You better sell out tomorrow, Bill, and bank that money. I’ll see if I can’t borrow a little on my Order of Christopher insurance. And with the Democrats back in power, I’m hoping that I can line up some contracts. In fact, I think I’ll go see Barney McCormack about it tomorrow,” Lonigan said while an announcer eulogized a talcum powder. “You’ll need what you got left out of it for your wedding. And these contracts or something will turn up.”
“I’m going to sell, all right, Dad. But you’re really welcome to the money. You better take it. Things will be much better by the time I’ll need it, and you’ll be able to pay me back then.”
“Bill, I hope to be able to give you much more than that when you’re married, if I only get some good breaks. But I won’t take this yet. You bank it. I’ll get out of this hole, all right, and there has to be a pickup. America is too great and too rich a country to go to the dogs. And we’ll ride right back up on the waves.”
Studs could see, though, that the old man was hit. He felt as if he’d stuck a knife in his dad’s back. Judas Iscariot. He sank in his chair, dreamily listened to sugared sad music, feeling lousy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I
Seeing the morning sunlight beyond the window, hearing the sounds of life in the alley, Studs was glad to be awake and to know that the distressing sadness he had been feeling was only a dream. He stretched himself out comfortably, and with his eyes on the ceiling tried to remember his dream. All he could remember was that he had been very sad and afraid in it. He sighed again because it had only been a dream, now it was morning, and he had a sunny day ahead of him with nothing to do but take it easy.
In the alley an automobile exhaust went off like a gun.
He guessed he might even wait a few days on his stock, and see if it didn’t go up. Because if the market broke yesterday, it was only natural that there would be a little stabilization today. A man like Imbray with all his money would back up his stock, and if he waited a few days he would, anyway, not be out as much as he was.
He got up and stretched his arms. Looking down at the small, grassless, fenced-in square of a back-yard, watching an ice wagon pass, he thought of how good he felt this morning. And the sun slanting down the flat sides of the building across the alley! It was going to be a good day.
He took his time washing, and thought of how he would maybe go out in the park and sit in the sun. He dressed lazily and walked to the kitchen for breakfast.
“Your father looked very worried this morning,” Mrs. Lonigan said.
“Well, there won’t be much business now maybe until fall, and he’s worried. By then business will be going again.”
“I do hope that something does happen for your poor father’s sake. He’s like a changed and unhappy man these days.”
“It will.”
“You’re not working today, are you?”
Studs stared at her, wondering. What was the idea of such a dumb question, because she knew he wasn’t or he’d have been gone long before a quarter to nine.
“No.”
“Rest, then, and take it easy.”
“I am. I’m going to the park and get some sun.”
“You better not sit in the grass. It will be damp at this time of the year and you might catch cold. You must take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
After breakfast, he lounged in the parlor, reading the newspaper.
GRAPEFRUIT KING PREDICTS GOOD TIMES
Business Has Improved Forty Per Cent