Flies struck the screen with little bumps and droned away.
The compressor chugged for a time and then stopped.
On 66 the traffic whizzed by, trucks and fine streamlined cars and jalopies; and they went by with a vicious whiz.
Mae took down the plates and scraped the pie crusts into a bucket.
She found her damp cloth and wiped the counter with circular sweeps.
And her eyes were on the highway, where life whizzed by.
Al wiped his hands on his apron.
He looked at a paper pinned to the wall over the griddle.
Three lines of marks in columns on the paper.
Al counted the longest line.
He walked along the counter to the cash register, rang
“No Sale,” and took out a handful of nickels.
“What ya doin’?” Mae asked.
“Number three’s ready to pay off,” said Al.
He went to the third slot machine and played his nickels in, and on the fifth spin of the wheels the three bars came up and the jack pot dumped out into the cup.
Al gathered up the big handful of coins and went back of the counter.
He dropped them in the drawer and slammed the cash register. Then he went back to his place and crossed out the line of dots. “Number three gets more play’n the others,” he said. “Maybe I ought to shift ’em around.” He lifted a lid and stirred the slowly simmering stew.
“I wonder what they’ll do in California?” said Mae.
“Who?”
“Them folks that was just in.”
“Christ knows,” said Al.
“S’pose they’ll get work?”
“How the hell would I know?” said Al.
She stared eastward along the highway.
“Here comes a transport, double.
Wonder if they stop?
Hope they do.” And as the huge truck came heavily down from the highway and parked, Mae seized her cloth and wiped the whole length of the counter.
And she took a few swipes at the gleaming coffee urn too, and turned up the bottle-gas under the urn.
Al brought out a handful of little turnips and started to peel them.
Mae’s face was gay when the door opened and the two uniformed truck drivers entered.
“Hi, sister!”
“I won’t be a sister to no man,” said Mae.
They laughed and Mae laughed. “What’ll it be, boys?”
“Oh, a cup a Java.
What kinda pie ya got?”
“Pineapple cream an’ banana cream an’ chocolate cream an’ apple.”
“Give me apple.
No, wait—what’s that big thick one?”
Mae picked up the pie and smelled it.
“Pineapple cream,” she said.
“Well, chop out a hunk a that.”
The cars whizzed viciously by on 66.
Chapter 16
Joads and Wilsons crawled westward as a unit: El Reno and Bridgeport, Clinton, Elk City, Sayre, and Texola.
There’s the border, and Oklahoma was behind.
And this day the cars crawled on and on, through the Panhandle of Texas. Shamrock and Alanreed, Groom and Yarnell.
Then went through Amarillo in the evening, drove too long, and camped when it was dusk.
They were tired and dusty and hot.
Granma had convulsions from the heat, and she was weak when they stopped.
That night Al stole a fence rail and made a ridge pole on the truck, braced at both ends.