Big Money by John Dos Passos Read Free Book Online Page A

signed up with an aviation proposition with my old C.O.”
    â€œTwentyfive years from now you can talk to me about aviation. Ain’t practical yet.”
    â€œWell, we got a couple of tricks up our sleeve. . . . We’re shootin’ the moon.”
    â€œThat’s about the size of it.” Jim got to his feet. His lips got thin. “Well, you needn’t think you can lay around my house all winter just because you’re a war hero. If that’s your idea you’ve got another think
comin’.” Charley burst out laughing. Jim came up and put his hand wheedlingly on Charley’s shoulder. “Say, those birds’ll be around here in a few minutes. You be a good feller and change into your uniform and put on all the medals. . . . Give us a break.”
    Charley stood a minute staring at the ash on his cigar. “How about givin’ me a break? Haven’t been in the house five hours and there you go pickin’ on me just like when I was workin’ back here. . . .”
    Jim was losing control of himself, he was starting to shake. “Well, you know what you can do about that,” he said, cutting his words off sharp. Charley felt like smashing him one in his damn narrow jaw. “If it wasn’t for Ma, you wouldn’t need to worry about that,” he said quietly.
    Jim didn’t answer for a minute. The wrinkles came out of his forehead. He shook his head and looked grave. “You’re right, Charley, you better stick around. If it gives her any pleasure . . .”
    Charley threw his cigar halfsmoked into the brass spittoon and walked out the door before Jim could stop him. He went to the house and got his hat and coat and went for a long walk through the soggy snow of the grey afternoon.
    They were just finishing at the suppertable when Charley got back. His supper had been set out on a plate for him at his place. Nobody spoke but old man Vogel. “Ve been tinking, dese airmen maybe dey live on air too,” he said and laughed wheezily. Nobody else laughed. Jim got up and went out of the room. As soon as Charley had swallowed his supper he said he was sleepy and went up to bed.
    Charley stayed on while November dragged on towards Thanksgiving and Christmas. His mother never seemed to be any better. Every afternoon he went over to see her for five or ten minutes. She was always cheerful. It made him feel terrible the way she talked about the goodness of God and how she was going to get better. He’d try to get her talking about Fargo and old Lizzie and the old days in the boardinghouse, but she didn’t seem to remember much about that, except about sermons she’d heard in church. He’d leave the hospital feeling weak and groggy. The rest of his time he spent looking up books on internalcombustion motors at the public library, or did odd jobs for Jim in the garage the way he used to when he was a kid.
    One evening after Newyears Charley went over to the Elks Ball in Minneapolis with a couple of fellows he knew. The big hall was full of noise and paper lanterns. He was cruising around threading his way
between groups of people waiting for the next dance when he found himself looking into a thin face and blue eyes he knew. It was too late to make out he hadn’t seen her. “Hello, Emiscah,” he said, keeping his voice as casual as he could.
    â€œCharley . . . my God.” He was afraid for a minute that she was going to faint. “Let’s dance,” he said.
    She felt limp in his arms. They danced a while without saying anything. She had too much rouge on her cheeks and he didn’t like the perfume she had on. After the dance they sat in a corner and talked. She wasn’t married yet. She worked in a departmentstore. No, she didn’t live at home any more, she lived in a flat with a girlfriend. He must come up. It would be like old times. He must give her his phonenumber.