STUDS lONIGAN*
James T. Farrell
Y
ou
GUYS
complaining that there's nothing to do ought to
just stop and think about all the poor chumps who got to work
on a day like this. Think of some goddamn Hunky swinging a
pickaxe, chopping up the street with his fanny dragging to the
ground, swinging away with that goddamn pickaxe, thirsty, his
underwear dripping, wishing it was all over and he was sitting
in the shade of the old apple tree," Benny Taite said, tilting
himself backwards on a chair in the corner of the poolroom,
and looking at the boys seated about in a circle.
"Benny, can that crap. You make us hot and tired, just
hearing about it," said Red Kelly.
"I got a job swinging a pick for the city, and I worked one
day. \Vas my can draggin'?" exclaimed Tommy.
"That was your record for work, wasn't it?" said Kenny
Kilarney.
"It
wouldn't hurt Taite there to try that for a couple of
days.
It
might make a man of him," kidded Studs.
"Sure, Taite, tell us where you got all that pep of yours ?"
said Red.
"I inherited it from my grandfather. He didn't work for
forty years, and I'm out to break his record," Benny dryly said.
"Say, for Christ sake, let's do something," Studs said, sud–
denly restive with inaction, while the boys were laughing.
"Exercise your tail on that chair you got. That's what days
like this were made for," said Taite.
• Excerpts from the forth coming novel,
The Young Manhood of Studs
Lonigan,
published by the Vanguard Press.
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