Studs Lonigan (15 page)

Studs, the conquering hero, returned to the gang. As he walked back, he thought up a brave story, about how he had told the gum-shoe to lump it, which he would tell the gang. But when he was sitting in the center of the adulatory group, he couldn't tell it. Damn it, he couldn't spread the bull on thick; he didn't know how to string people along and tell lies like some people did. He told them what had happened, and they had fun talking it over. They talked about the battle, showering Studs with praise, telling him how great he was and how he was the champ of the neighborhood. Johnny O'Brien had been going around telling everybody how thick he was with Red Kelly, and every time he got in dutch with anybody bigger than he was he would always threaten to get Red Kelly after him. Now he told Studs that he could clean up Kelly. Studs was tired, sick in his stomach, aching all over. And he kept feeling his swollen eye. Johnny O'Brien ran home and copped a piece of beefsteak from his old lady. Helen and Lucy applied it. Studs was happy, even though he felt rotten. He was now the cock of the walk, and the battering he had gotten from Weary was worth this; but he'd hate to have to fight him again; his jaw was all cut on the inside; well, Weary was probably worse off. Weary Reilley had been licked; he, Studs Lonigan, had pounded the stuffings out of him. Now, that was something to be proud of.

He listened to the sycophantic comments; they purred sweetly on his ears. Helen gave a vigorous redescription of how the fight started. Red O'Connell, who hated Studs, and was kowtowing to him only because he had cleaned up Reilley, kept saying it had been a bear of a fight. Dan Donoghue said there hadn't been a fight like it in the whole history of the neighborhood. Dick Buckford told Studs he could fight like blazes until they all told the punk to keep quiet. And Lucy said it showed Studs was brave.

Studs told himself he had been waiting for things like this to happen a long time; now they were happening, and life was going to be a whole lot more . . . more fun, and it was going to make everything just jake; and he was going to be an important guy, and all the punks would look up to him and brag to other punks that they knew him; and he would be . . . well, in the limelight. Maybe it would set things happening as he always knew they would; and he would keep on getting more and more important.

It was all swell; and it made him feel good, even if he was tired and aching. After they had all talked themselves almost blue in the face, they decided that it would be cooler in the Shires' playhouse. They went back there, and Helen chased away her kid sister's gang. The guys all chipped in to buy lunch, with Johnny O'Brien putting up most of the money. Red, Dan and Johnny went to the delicatessen store for grub; coming back, they copped a couple of bottles of milk from iceboxes. It was a fine lunch, and afterward they played post office, and Lucy gave her hero plenty of kisses. Life was fine and dandy for Studs, all right, and the only thing bothering him, besides his headache, was that he would have a heck of a time explaining his shiner to the old lady.

STUDS couldn't stay in one place, and he kept walking up and down Indiana Avenue, wishing that the guys would come around. As he passed Young Horn Buckford and some punk he didn't know, Young Horn said hello to him. He gruffed a reply. He heard Young Horn say, as he walked on:

“You know who that is? That's STUDS LONIGAN. He's the champ fighter of the block.”

Studs laughed to himself, proud.

He came back to Fifty-seventh, and sat on the curb, watching two kids race each other up and down the street with barrel hoops. They pretended they were auto-racers. A little kid in a blue shirt kept saying he was Dairo Resta; and the other called himself Ralph De Palma. Resta and De Palma raced back and forth, and at the conclusion of every race there was an argument between the two winners. He would have liked to play in such a game, but it was too young for him. He smoked a butt.

“H'lo, Studs!”

“Hello, Half-Wit,” said Studs to snotty-nosed, Jew-faced, thickbodied, thirteen-year-old Andy Le Gare.

“Studs, can I feel your muscle?”

“I will if you will show me how you can bat your head against a brick wall.”

“Gwan,” said Andy.

“Say, Wilson's gonna get skunked,” Studs said.

“He won't. My father said so; and he knows,” said Andy.

“Listen! Wilson's a morphidite,” Studs said.

“What's that?”

“A guy that's both a man and a woman at the same time, like fat Leon,” said Studs.

Andy looked at Studs, hurt, puzzled, betrayed.

“I don't believe it. I'll bet you ten bucks,” said Andy.

“Where'd you get the ten bucks?” sneered Studs.

“Never mind, I'll get ten bucks,” said Andy.

“Boushwah!”

A pause. Andy again asked Studs if he could feel his muscle. Studs consented if Andy would show his stuff. Andy said it was a bargain. Andy felt Studs' muscle, and said: Gee! He again gripped Studs' hardfibered right arm, and repeated his exclamation of admiration. Studs then made Andy carry out his part of the bargain; so Andy went over to the corner building, and, laughing idiotically, he snapped his head against the brick wall six times. Studs watched him open-mouthed, and said:

“Your bean must be made of iron. Watch out they don't take it some day to use on the elevated structures.”

Andy went off. Studs watched him, laughing and muttering exclamations of surprise.

Studs hung around until the gang dribbled along. They sat on the grass in front of the apartment building on Indiana, where Danny lived. They whiled away the time with kid trivialities.

Danny O'Neill said that he had a good one on Three-Star Hennessey.

“Spill it,” said Dan Donoghue.

“Well, it's funny; it's a good one,” said Danny. Danny laughed like the goofy punk that he was.

“Well, for Christ sake, out with it before we take your pants down,” said Johnny O'Brien, who acted as if he were a big guy like Studs and Dan.

“Well, Hennessey was under the Fifty-eighth Street elevated station . . . and gee, it's funny . . . !” “Well, then, shoot it while you're all together,” said Studs.

“Well, he was under the Fifty-eighth Street elevated station . . .”

“Yeh, we heard that,” said Johnny O'Brien.

“. . . lookin' up through the cracks to see if he could get an eyeful when the women walked up and down stairs ...”

“Yeh, and we know what he was doing. That's nothing new,” said Johnny.

“He once had a race with Paulie, and they both claimed the other had fouled,” said Studs, and they laughed.

“But this time it's funny . . . You see, a dick caught him and shagged him down the alley. Three-Star got away, because nobody could catch him anyway, but the guys told me it was funny, him legging it, with his stockings hanging . . . and he didn't even have time to button up,” said Danny.

They gabbed and laughed. Bill Donoghue interrupted the discussion on this latest of Hennessey's exploits to say:

“That's a warnin' for you, TB.”

“Say . . . I don't do that,” said TB.

“No!” said Studs ironically.

“What you got them pimples on your forehead from?” asked Johnny O'Brien.

“Why, you're gettin' so weak that young O'Neill here can toss you,” Studs said.

TB and Danny were made to wrestle. O'Neill dumped McCarthy with a crotch hold. TB squirmed, and O'Neill tried to turn and pin him with another crotch and a half-nelson, but Muggsy slid free. He was just getting behind O'Neill, when he was shoved by Bill and Studs. He squawked about dirty work being done him, and called Danny names, threatening to get him alone some time. The guys told Muggsy that just for that he would get the clouts. They held him from behind, and encouraged Danny to sock him in the puss. Then they made Danny jerk open his buttons. It was fun.

“Jiggers!” yelled Johnny O'Brien.

Across the street, where Johnny pointed, they saw TB's old man, a tough, red-mustached, Irish police sergeant. They legged it to O'Brien's basement by a circuitous route and peered up from the basement window in time to see the old man finish slapping TB around. He bawled out Monk, kicked him in the slats, and told him to go on home.

When the coast was clear, they came out and sprawled on the grass, laughing over Muggsy's punishment. He was a goop, anyway.

They gassed. Studs suddenly reflected:

“You know, Hennessey must have some screws loose.”

“Just some? That loogin is all loose, his bean is all screwy,” said Johnny O'Brien.

“He's a sap. The squirrels call him brother,” said Bill.

“He's got bats in the belfry,” said Dan.

A banana man lazily shoved his cart across Fifty-seventh Street, shouting, droning, sing-songing: Bannano-oe!

The guys had great fun listening to Bill mimic the dago.

They sat around and chewed the fat. Studs said:

“You know, even my old lady warns me to keep away from Three-Star.”

“Hell, so does mine,” O'Brien said.

“Is Hennessey the bull artist?” said Danny O'Neill.

“But you know, sometimes he's good-hearted,” said Tubby.

“Say, he'd steal your stockings without touching your shoes if he had half a chance. He'd even steal ‘em if they were stiff and full of holes,” Johnny O'Brien said.

“He's cookoo,” said O'Neill.

“Well, Tubby, you're older and he thought you'd make a good friend and maybe stick up for him some time, that's why he treated you. He needs someone to protect him because there's gangs of guys always out to get him, and nearly every guy his size in the neighborhood has cleaned on him,” said O'Brien.

“Sometimes he will get the livin' hell pounded out of him,” Dan Donoghue said.

“Yeh,” said Studs.

“He deserves all he gets, though, the little degenerate,” said Dan.

“He should have been a nigger or a hebe instead of Irish,” said O'Brien. Johnny added that Hennessey had even been caught in a basement with his half-wit sister.

“Yeah!”

“Speak of the devil and he's sure to appear,” said Tubby.

“Yeh, Rastus!” said Bill.

They spied Hennessey and Haggerty dragging themselves along Indiana toward them. They came closer. Both were chewing tobacco, expectorating the juice like dyed-in-the-wool hard guys. Three-Star's face was smeary, framing his innocent blue eyes; he had a cherubic dimpled chin. He wore an old, dirty blue shirt and filthy khaki pants that were falling down. He had holes in his stockings, and no garters.

“Hello, Falling Socks!” said Studs.

“Hey, Hennessey, don't you believe in baths?” asked Johnny O'Brien.

“Hello, Nuts and Bolts!” said Bill.

Three-Star thumbed his nose at them.

“Hey, Punk!” said Bill.

Hennessey won forgiveness by passing out wads of Tip-Top for the older guys to chew.

They goofed Three-Star about the elevated incident, but he only laughed and gave them the low-down on it; he was quite proud of the way he had given Johnny Law the slip. He told some dirty jokes he had just collected. Then he looked at Danny O'Neill, who was his own size, and said he'd like to start mooning punks. He said he was fed up on the dago chickens around State Street anyway. The guys all thought that was a new word. Studs tried to talk Hennessey into going down in O'Brien's basement and doing his stuff, but Hennessey wouldn't. They hung around and gassed. They got to shouting and talking loud. Studs tried to promote a fight between Danny and Hennessey, and got them to tip-tapping with open hands. George, the cranky janitor, came out and told them to make less noise. After he turned his back, Hennessey made faces at him and the guys laughed. George turned around and caught Three-Star. He came back, and told Hennessey that if he caught him on the premises again, he'd break his dirty neck. When George had gone, they all talked of what a crab he was. Then the older guys got Hennessey and O'Neill tipper-tapping again. Studs got in back of Danny, and Bill stood behind Hennessey. They shoved simultaneously. The two punks batted their domes together and got sore. They started fighting. Hennessey lowered his head, and rushed, swinging wildly. Danny stood off and met each rush with a stiff left uppercut. He was cleaning on Three-Star for fair, much to the delight of the gang. They all yelled too loudly. George appeared on the roof and doused a pail of water on them; everybody but Studs and Johnny O'Brien got wet. They stood there, cursing up at George. He stood on the roof and laughed down at them. Then he got sore again and yelled for them to beat it while the beating was good. They knew George, so they straggled away. They went back in the alley, and the fight was resumed. Danny cut Hennessey up some more. Three-Star quit. He went off bawling that he'd get O'Neill alone some day. When he was a good distance away, he swore at them. They didn't shag him, because he was too hard to catch.

The next day, when they came around Indiana, they found themselves all roundly cursed in chalked markings that extended the whole length of the block. And they met George with a policeman. They were shown the mail boxes in George's two buildings on the corner. Every one of them had been smashed with a hammer or a hatchet. They all got leery, but they had alibis, and the cop only took their names and went around to their homes to find out what time they had come in.

They knew who did it, but they didn't want to be snitchers. They went back to Johnny's yard and noticed that two side windows of the basement had been broken. They armed themselves with clubs and sticks and marched forth like an army going to war. But Hennessey was nowhere to be found.