The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [7]
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true,
We won’t have a stylish marriage,
We can’t afford a carriage,
But you’ll look sweet,
Upon, the seat, of a bicycle built for two.
And that Sunday he had rented a buggy, even though it cut a terrible hole in his kick, and they had driven way out south. Who would have ever thought he and she would now be living in the same neighborhood they had driven into that Sunday, and that they would have their own home, and graduate their kids from it? Now, who would have thought it? And the time he had taken her to a dance at Hull House, and coming home he had almost gotten into a mixup with some soused mick because the fellow had started to get smartalecky, like he was a-kike. Yessir, them was the days. He hummed, trying first to strike the right tune to Little Annie Rooney, then the tune of My Irish Molly ‘O. He sang to himself:
Dear old girl, the robin sings above you/
Dear old girl, it speaks of how I love you,
Dear old girl, it speaks of how I love you .. .
He couldn’t remember the rest of the song, but it was a fine song. It described his Mary to a T. His Dear Old Girl.
And the old gang. They were scattered now, to the very ends of the earth. Many of them were dead, like poor Paddy McCoy, Lord have mercy on his soul, whose ashes rested in a drunkard’s grave at Potter’s Field. Well, they were a fine gang, and many’s the good man they drank under the table, but... well, most of them didn’t turn out so well. There was Heinie Schmaltz, the boy with glue on his fingers, the original sticky-fingered kid. And poor Mrs. Schmaltz, Lord have mercy on her poor soul. God was merciful to take her away before she could know how her boy went up the road to Joliet on a ten-year jolt for burglary. The poor little woman, how she used to come around and tell of the things her Heinie found. She’d say, in her German dialect, My Heinie, he finds the grandest things. Vy, ony yesterday, I tell you, I tell you, he found a diamond ring, vy, can you himagine hit! And that time she and Mrs. McGoorty got to talking about which of their boys were the luckiest, and about the fine things my Heinie found, and the fine things my Mike is always pickin’ up. Good souls they were. And there was Dinny Gorman, the fake silk-hat. When Dinny would tote himself by, they’d all haw-haw because he was like an old woman. He was too bright, if you please, to associate with ordinary fellows. Once a guy from New York came around, and he was damned if High-hat Dinny, who’d never been to the big burg, didn’t sit down and try to tell this guy about New York. Dinny had made a little dough, but he was, after all, only a shyster lawyer and a cheap politician. He had been made ward committeeman because he had licked everybody’s boots. And there were his own brothers. Bill had run away to sea at seventeen and nobody had ever heard from him again. Jack, Lord have mercy on his soul, had always been a wild and foolish fellow, and man or devil couldn’t persuade him not to join the colors for the war with Spain, and he’d been killed in Cuba, and it had nearly broken their mother’s heart in two. Lord have mercy on his and her and the old man’s souls. He’d been a fool, all right! Poor Jack! And Mike had run off and married a woman older than himself, and he was now in the east, and not doing so well, and his wife was an old crow, slobbering in a wheel chair. And Joe was a motorman. And Catherine, well, he hadn’t even better think of her. Letting a traveling salesman get her like that, and expecting to come home with her fatherless baby; and then going out and becoming... a scarlet woman. His own sister, too! God! Nope, his family had not turned out so well. They hadn’t had, none of them, the persistence that he had. He had stuck to his job and nearly killed himself working. But now he was reaping his rewards. It had been no soft job when he had started as a painter’s apprentice, and there weren’t strong unions then like there were now, and there was no eight-hour day, neither, and the pay was nothing. In them days, many