John Steinbeck Fullscreen About mice and humans (1935)

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“You ask him right away, George, so he won’t kill no more of ‘em.”

“Sure.

Come on now, get up on your feet.”

Lennie rolled off his bunk and stood up, and the two of them started for the door.

Just as they reached it, Curley bounced in.

“You seen a girl around here?” he demanded angrily.

George said coldly. “’Bout half an hour ago maybe.”

“Well what the hell was she doin’?”

George stood still, watching the angry little man.

He said insultingly,

“She said — she was lookin’ for you.”

Curley seemed really to see George for the first time.

His eyes flashed over George, took in his height, measured his reach, looked at his trim middle.

“Well, which way’d she go?” he demanded at last.

“I dunno,” said George. “I didn’ watch her go.”

Curley scowled at him, and turning, hurried out the door.

George said, “Ya know, Lennie, I’m scared I’m gonna tangle with that bastard myself.

I hate his guts.

Jesus Christ!

Come on.

They won’t be a damn thing left to eat.”

They went out the door.

The sunshine lay in a thin line under the window.

From a distance there could be heard a rattle of dishes.

After a moment the ancient dog walked lamely in through the open door.

He gazed about with mild, half-blind eyes.

He sniffed, and then lay down and put his head between his paws.

Curley popped into the doorway again and stood looking into the room.

The dog raised his head, but when Curley jerked out, the grizzled head sank to the floor again.

Although there was evening brightness showing through the windows of the bunk house, inside it was dusk.

Through the open door came the thuds and occasional clangs of a horseshoe game, and now and then the sound of voices raised in approval or derision.

Slim and George came into the darkening bunk house together.

Slim reached up over the card table and turned on the tin-shaded electric light.

Instantly the table was brilliant with light, and the cone of the shade threw its brightness straight downward, leaving the corners of the bunk house still in dusk.

Slim sat down on a box and George took his place opposite.

“It wasn’t nothing,” said Slim. “I would of had to drowned most of ‘em anyways.

No need to thank me about that.” George said, “It wasn’t much to you, maybe, but it was a hell of alot to him.

Jesus Christ, I don’t know how we’re gonna get him to sleep in here.

He’ll want to sleep right out in the barn with ‘em.

We’ll have trouble keepin’ him from getting right in the box with them pups.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Slim repeated. “Say, you sure was right about him.

Maybe he ain’t bright, but I never seen such a worker.

He damn near killed his partner buckin’ barley.

There ain’t nobody can keep up with him.

God awmighty, I never seen such a strong guy.”

George spoke proudly. “Jus’ tell Lennie what to do an’ he’ll do it if it don’t take no figuring.

He can’t think of nothing to do himself, but he sure can take orders.”

There was a clang of horseshoe on iron stake outside and a little cheer of voices.

Slim moved back slightly so the light was not on his face.

“Funny how you an’ him string along together.”