Studs Lonigan (20 page)

He didn't go around Indiana any more, so he had walked up and down other streets and had ended up in the Carter Playground. He fooled around. He batted out stones. He climbed up the ladders and slid down, and didn't mind doing that, but canned it, because the ladders were for young squirts. He sat on the edge of the slide and thought of Lucy, and of how he had scarcely seen her since that day. He liked Lucy. He liked her. He loved her, but after what had happened he was even ashamed to admit it to himself. He was a hard-boiled guy, and he had learned his lesson. He'd keep himself roped in tight after this when it came to girls. He wasn't going to show his cards to nobody again. He sat on the slide. He got up and climbed the ladder. He slid down. He picked up pebbles and shot them as a guy shot marbles. He went to the fountain for a drink. He wished he could think of something he'd like to do.

He thought about how he had licked Weary Reilley and become such a big cheese around Indiana, and well, he had turned out to be a different kind of a big cheese now. He walked down to Cannon's confectionery store near State and bought an ice cream cone. He licked the ice cream with his tongue so that it would last longer. When he returned to the playground, Red Kelly, Davey Cohen and Paulie were there. Guys had always wondered what sort of a showing Studs would make in a scrap with the lads from Fifty-eighth and Prairie, but none of them had ever bothered Studs. As he walked across the playground toward them, he suddenly wondered if any of them, if Red, would start something now. He saw Davey Cohen talking to Red, and pointing at him. When he got up to them, Red asked him if he thought he was tough. He asked Red why. Red said he just wanted to know if Studs thought he was tough, because if he was, well, he, Red Kelly, would knock a little of it out of him. He and Red looked at each other. Red spat. Studs spat. Davey said put a stick on Studs' shoulders. Davey picked up a stick, and handed it to Paulie. After hesitating, Paulie placed it on Studs' shoulder. Red glowered at Studs. Studs made faces back. Red spat from the corner of his mouth. Red knocked the stick off and said that he didn't even bury his dead; he let them lie. They fought. Studs gave Red a bloody nose, and Red showed a yellow streak and quit; he walked off and said he'd square matters later. Davey and Paulie sidled around Studs. They asked him why he never hung out with their gang.

“We have a swell time all the time, better than the St. Patrick's guys from Indiana,” Paulie said.

“Hell, they're all mopes,” Studs said.

“Yeh, well, then come on around with us,” Davey said.

Studs said that he would.

Some young punks, Joe Coady and Denny Dennis, came around. Joe got the ball and bat from the instructor's office, and they played moveup piggy.

Studs batted. Paulie pitched. He served one up to Studs. Studs leaned on it, and it went out to center field on the fly. Davey caught it.

Paulie batted, and Coady pitched. Studs went out to right field.

Coady twirled the ball.

Paulie didn't hit it.

“Come on and pitch 'em right,” said Paulie.

“I'm pitchin' right. What's a matter?” asked Coady.

“Pitch 'em and cut it out,” Paulie said.

Studs told them to play and quit dynamitin'.

“Hey! Hey! can the goofin',” he added.

Coady twirled the ball, and Paulie sizzled one along the ground.

“Goddamn you! Pitch right!” Paulie snarled.

“I'm pitchin' it all right. Can't you hit it?” answered Coady.

“You ain't. Come on, you Goddamn punk, or I'll fling the bat at you!” Paulie said.

“You better not. He's Tommy Doyle's cousin,” young Dennis said.

“All right, punk. No one asked you tuh put your two cents in,” Paulie said to Dennis.

“Hey, can it!” Studs said.

Coady made an elaborate pitching gesture, and underhanded a floater straight over the pan. Paulie let it go by.

“Damn you, pitch right,” Paulie said.

Studs walked in and out. He picked up stones, and threw them aimlessly.

“I'm pitchin' all right. Why don't you hit it?” asked Coady.

“You lousy punk, pitch right!” Paulie said.

Coady twirled the next pitch, and Paulie lashed, hitting a mean, twisting foul by first base. Coady ran after it, and got his hands on the ball but muffed it.

“Come on, Joe! Let 'im hit it,” Davey yelled.

“Pitch it right, you little bitch,” said Paulie.

Coady did, an easy floater, and Paulie popped a fly to Denny. He threw the bat at Coady, but Joe dodged and laughed. He moved toward him. Coady ran, Paulie wriggling his tomato after Joe. Joe was too swift for Haggerty.

“If I catch you, I'll bust your neck,” yelled Paulie.

“Hey, cut it out,” Studs yelled.

“Aw, come on, you guys,” pleaded Denny.

Paulie kept shagging Coady. Joe would slow down until Paulie got near him, then he would dodge, twist and dart off, laughing at Paulie. Joe had won medals in grammar school track meets, and he was fast. He had Paulie puffing like a balloon, and Haggerty had to give it up. Joe laughed at him.

Studs got sore and threw pebbles at both of them. Paulie lined rocks at Joe.

Studs asked Paulie if he wanted to keep on playing.

“Yeh, but I'd like to kill the lousy punk and bust his freckled neck,” said Paulie.

He shook his fist at Joe.

“Can't you hit? . . . You couldn't hit the flat side of a barn . . . you couldn't hit one if it had crutches on it,” Joe yelled.

“Lemme get my hands on you, and I'll hit all right,” Paulie said.

“Come on, Paulie, can it! You'll get another bat,” said Davey.

Paulie took his place out in center field. Denny pitched. Coady batted. He hit the first one on a line past third. No one was near it. Davey shagged after the ball.

Denny pitched again.

Coady did not swing.

“Come on! Hit it!” yelled Paulie.

“I will,” said Joe.

Denny pitched.

Joe smacked another one over third.

He hit another one over third.

They all got sore and yelled at him.

Studs went over and leaned against the ladders in foul territory.

Coady lined one to right field. Studs would have had it, if he had been in position. He got sore and cursed, running after the ball.

Coady kept on placing his hits, chopping them, hitting down and lining out grounders, cutting them over third, drawing them in back of first base.

“What the hell you think you're doin'?” raged Paulie.

“I'm batting, ain't I?”

“What you think you are?” asked Studs.

Joe accidentally hit one on first bounce to Denny, and his turn would have been up, but Denny fumbled.

“Christ sake! You're all thumbs,” said Paulie.

“Come on, you punks,” said Studs.

Coady placed one over Davey's head in deep short. The ball rolled way out in left field. Davey watched it roll. So did Paulie. They looked at each other.

“You're the outfield,” said Davey.

“I'm centerfield,” Paulie said.

“I'm playin' infield,” Davey said.

“I'm not gonna get it. It wasn't my field,” Paulie said.

“Well, I'm not neither,” Davey said.

Paulie sat down.

Davey sat down.

Studs went over and leaned against the slide bars.

“You get it, Denny,” Davey said.

“I don't have to get it. It ain't my ball. I was pitchin',” Denny said defensively.

“One of you guys gotta get it,” Studs said.

“It ain't mine,” Paulie said.

“It ain't mine,” Davey said.

“Come on and quit dynamitin',” Studs said.

“I ain't dynamitin',” said Davey.

“Commere, Denny,” Studs said.

“No, I won't. I'm pitchin'. I don't have to get it,” yelped Denny.

“Come on, you guys. I want my bats,” Coady said.

“Hell, you got 'em,” Paulie said.

“I want mine, too,” Denny said.

“Well, you get the pill then,” Paulie said.

“Come on and give me my bats,” Coady said.

Paulie threw some stones around.

“Commere, Denny,” Studs said.

Denny reluctantly went over to Studs.

“Go and get the ball, and we'll get you your bats,” said Studs.

“No, I don't have to,” said Denny.

“Go ahead! I'll do you a favor some time,” said Studs.

“Heck! Why should I? I didn't hit it or miss it. I was pitchin'. If it was my position, I would, but it wasn't,” said Denny.

“Go on, get it,” persuaded Studs.

“I won't.”

Studs grabbed Denny, and twisted his arm back in a hammer lock.

“Ouch! UUUUU! Damn you! You big bully! Let me go! I'll get my brother after you, and he'll kill you for this. Let me go! Ouch! UUUUUU!”

“Well, will you get the ball?”

“Owwww! Let me go, you bully! Let me alone!”

“Now will you get it?”

“Make 'im get it,” said Davey.

Studs twisted again. Denny yelled. He promised he would get the ball. Studs relaxed his hold. Denny started walking away. He bawled. He called Studs a big bully. Suddenly, he turned and thumbed his nose at Studs.

“You bastard,” he yelled.

Studs shagged him, and Davey and Paulie took up the chase. Denny was caught. Studs twisted his arm again. He called Studs a big bully. Davey suggested taking his pants off. Paulie ripped his buttons open.

“Let me go, you bullies. Let me alone! I didn't do nothin' to you. I didn't bother you. Pick on someone your own size. I'll tell my brother. He'll kick the crap out of you,” yelled Denny, frantically.

Studs twisted his arm again.

Denny shrieked that they were sbs.

Studs twisted. Paulie slapped Denny's face. Denny bawled, large tears rolling down his dirty face. Paulie goosed him. Denny squirmed, and yelled.

“Take it all back,” demanded Studs.

“No.”

Studs twisted.

An agonized yes.

Studs loosed his hold.

Paulie snatched Denny's cap.

Denny begged for it.

They laughed at him. They threatened to hang his pants on the picket fence. Denny cried for his cap.

Paulie handed the cap to Studs. Denny ran toward Studs. Studs tossed it to Davey. Denny ran toward Davey. Davey passed it to Paulie. Denny picked up some boulders and moved toward Paulie. Paulie told the punk to drop the rocks while he knew he was well off. He passed the hat to Studs.

Studs wrapped some stones in it. He said to Denny: “Here it is!”

When Denny came to Studs, Studs threw the cap on the roof of Carter school.

Denny bawled, and yelled that his brother would get the whole bunch of them, and he got a kick in the slats for his mouthiness.

Studs, Paulie and Davey left the playground.

“You'll get it like that,” Paulie yelled at Joe.

“Got to catch me first.”

“Let's get him,” said Davey.

“Hell, we'd never catch him,” said Studs.

“We hadn't better. He's Tommy Doyle's cousin,” said Davey.

“Listen, Studs, you ought to hang around with us guys at Fifty-eighth and Prairie. You'll have more fun,” said Paulie.

Studs said he might. They told him how swell a scrapper he was.

“You're as good as anyone on Fifty-eighth. You're as good as Tommy Doyle,” said Davey.

Studs felt pretty good again. He felt powerful. Life was still opening up for him, as he'd expected it to, and it was still going to be a great summer. And it was a better day than he imagined. A sun was busting the sky open, like Studs Lonigan busted guys in the puss. It was a good day.

They walked on down toward the Fifty-eighth Street corner. Davey sniped a butt and lit it. Paulie jawed a hunk off of his plug of tobacco. He offered some to Studs but Studs didn't take it; chewing tobacco made him sick. Paulie's pan was stuffed with tobacco. They walked along, all feeling pretty good.

Studs heard his mother calling him, and they hurried around the corner as if he didn't hear her.

“What'll we do?” asked Davey.

“What'll we do?” asked Paulie.

“Let's do something,” said Studs.

“Let's,” said Davey.

They walked along. Studs took a drag on Davey's butt. Paulie got between them, putting an arm around each of their shoulders. They were a picture, walking along, Paulie with his fat hips, Davey with his bow legs, and small, broad Studs.

“We'll find something to do,” said Davey.

“Sure,” said Paulie.

They walked along, looking for something to do.

STUDS LONIGAN, looking tough, sat on the fireplug before the drug store on the northeast corner of Fifty-eighth and Prairie. Since cleaning up Red Kelly, he, along with Tommy Doyle, had become a leading member of the Fifty-eighth Street bunch. Studs and Tommy were figured a good draw. Studs sat. His jaw was swollen with tobacco. The tobacco tasted bitter, and he didn't like it, but he sat, squirting juice from the corner of his mouth, rolling the chewed wad from jaw to jaw. His cap was pulled over his right eye in hard-boiled fashion. He had a piece of cardboard in the back of his cap to make it square, just like all the tough Irish from Wentworth Avenue, and he had a bushy Regan haircut. He sat. He had a competition with himself in tobacco juice spitting to determine whether he could do better plopping it from the right or the left side of his mouth. The right hand side was Studs; the left hand side was a series of rivals, challenging him for the championship. The contests were important ones, like heavyweight championship fights, and they put Studs Lonigan in the public eye, like Jess Willard and Freddy Welsh. Seriously, cautiously, concernedly, he let the brown juice fly, first from the left, then from the right side of his mouth. Now and then the juice slobbered down his chin, and that made Studs feel as goofy as if he was a young punk with falling socks.