The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [418]
If those who are working and have the means would pay all their retail merchandise bills and in addition purchase what they need and can afford, if those owing him money, Morris at that Jew apartment hotel, Olson, that damn West-side Swede, if they would, a healthy commerce would quickly be created. Our nation has plenty of resources to support all its people comfortably through a mutual exchange of products if everyone will do his part. Goddamn it, he only wanted to do his part, and he had always done it. He would still be doing it only for those dirty, crooked bankers. And yes, he had always paid his bills. Those who have employment now run the risk of losing it by refraining from buying and paying within their means. No one who has the money can afford to defer settling his account. Golly, he’d like to show this piece to Morris and Olson.
Lonigan smiled.
“True, isn’t it?” Mort eagerly asked.
“Yes, and, Mort, I’d like my own debtors to see it.”
“Can’t you sue, Paddy?”
“I got to, but I’ll be lucky to get a nickel on the dollar. I got a letter today from the bank holding the mortgage on my building, telling me I got to pay up on the date. How am I going to? The bank with my own money in failed. How am I going to?”
“Paddy, my only wish is that I had the money to loan you,” Mort said.
“It ain’t right. It ain’t fair, Mort.”
Mort wagged his head sadly from side to side.
“Mort, I’m sorry I can’t help you out any more than this dollar,” Lonigan said, handing Mort a dollar bill, and then putting his panama hat on.
“I understand. Thank you, Paddy. I understand. And I always say that Paddy Lonigan’s a square-shooting man with a heart of gold when he has it.”
“Thank you, Mort. I’ve always tried to be fair. And I suppose that all we can do is to keep a stiff upper lip, grin and bear it, and try to hang on by the skin of our teeth until business gets better.”
“Yes, Paddy, that about hits the nail square.”
“We’ve gone through the mill, Mort, and both of us have known hard times before. But this depression looks like the worst we’ve ever had. And Mort, neither of us were born with silver spoons in our mouths. We know what tough breaks mean. But I tell you, Mort, things have never been as tough as they are now.” Mort nodded in eager agreement. “Why, I’ve hardly got a penny left.”
“Paddy, I always think that I’ve got this one consolation. Maybe it was the wisdom of God taking my woman away from me before she had to go through times like these.”
“Yes, Mort, often mere mortal men like ourselves can-not see the ways of the Almighty and what looks to us like misfortune often turns out different and only proves the wisdom of God,” Lonigan orated.
“True, Paddy, true.”
“Well, goodbye, Mort, old man, and whenever I have any work for you, I’ll get in touch with you. Goodbye and good luck, old man,” Lonigan said.
“So long, Paddy. I know how it is. I know,” Mort said as the two men spiritlessly shook hands.
Mort trudged out of the office. Lonigan stood as if transfixed, thinking that Mort was too old and too slow to do much work for him. He had to use younger men, who could do the work quickly.
He picked up the telephone, put it down. He was afraid to call home and get bad news. Bill might be dead. Was in bad shape when he left this morning, and Mary had spoken of having the priest.