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424 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1934

SECTION ONE
1917-1918-1919
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I
XVI
XXXIIYup. New Year’s morning. 1929. Will things ever get better for Studs? Well, we sure as hell know that they might get worse, without waiting too damn long.
The dirty grey dawn of the New Year came slowly. It was snowing. There was a drunken figure, huddled by the curb near the fireplug at Fifty-eighth and Prairie. A passing Negro studied it. He saw that the fellow wasn’t dead. He rolled it over, and saw it was a young man with a broad face, the eyes puffed black, and nose swollen and bent. He saw the the suit and coat were bloody, dirty, odorous with vomit. He laughed, the drunk stirred as the Negro said:
“Boy, you all has been celebratin’ a-plenty.”
He searched the unconscious drunk and pocketed eight dollars. He walked on.
The grey dawn spread, lightened. Snow fell more rapidly from the muggy sky of the New Year.
It was Studs Lonigan, who had once, as a boy, stood before Charley Bathcellar’s poolroom thinking that some day, he would grow up to be strong, and tough, and the real stuff.