“Let them goddamn cops run over me, an’ me do nothin’?”
“No, looka here.
I’ll come for ya tonight.
Maybe I’m wrong.
There’s stools aroun’ all a time.
I’m takin’ a chancet, an’ I got a kid, too.
But I’ll come for ya.
An’ if ya see a cop, why, you’re a goddamn dumb Okie, see?”
“Tha’s awright if we’re doin’ anythin’,” said Tom.
“Don’ you worry.
We’re doin’ somepin, on’y we ain’t stickin’ our necks out.
A kid starves quick. Two-three days for a kid.” He went back to his job, spread the compound on a valve seat, and his hand jerked rapidly back and forth on the brace, and his face was dull and dumb.
Tom strolled slowly back to his camp.
“Bull-simple,” he said under his breath.
Pa and Uncle John came toward the camp, their arms loaded with dry willow sticks, and they threw them down by the fire and squatted on their hams.
“Got her picked over pretty good,” said Pa. “Had ta go a long ways for wood.” He looked up at the circle of staring children. “Lord God Almighty!” he said.
“Where’d you come from?” All of the children looked self-consciously at their feet.
“Guess they smelled the cookin’,” said Ma. “Winfiel’, get out from under foot.” She pushed him out of her way. “Got ta make us up a little stew,” she said.
“We ain’t et nothin’ cooked right sence we come from home.
Pa, you go up to the store there an’ get me some neck meat.
Make a nice stew here.” Pa stood up and sauntered away.
Al had the hood of the car up, and he looked down at the greasy engine.
He looked up when Tom approached.
“You sure look happy as a buzzard,” Al said.
“I’m jus’ gay as a toad in spring rain,” said Tom.
“Looka the engine,” Al pointed. “Purty good, huh?”
Tom peered in.
“Looks awright to me.”
“Awright?
Jesus, she’s wonderful.
She ain’t shot no oil nor nothin’.” He unscrewed a spark plug and stuck his forefinger in the hole. “Crusted up some, but she’s dry.”
Tom said,
“You done a nice job a pickin’.
That what ya want me to say?”
“Well, I sure was scairt the whole way, figgerin’ she’d bust down an’ it’d be my fault.”
“No, you done good.
Better get her in shape, ’cause tomorra we’re goin’ out lookin’ for work.”
“She’ll roll,” said Al. “Don’t you worry none about that.” He took out a pocket knife and scraped the points of the spark plug.
Tom walked around the side of the tent, and he found Casy sitting on the earth, wisely regarding one bare foot.
Tom sat down heavily beside him.
“Think she’s gonna work?”
“What?” asked Casy.
“Them toes of yourn.”
“Oh! Jus’ settin’ here a-thinkin’.”
“You always get good an’ comf’table for it,” said Tom.
Casy waggled his big toe up and his second toe down, and he smiled quietly.
“Hard enough for a fella to think ’thout kinkin’ himself up to do it.”
“Ain’t heard a peep outa you for days,” said Tom. “Thinkin’ all the time?”
“Yeah, thinkin’ all the time.”
Tom took off his cloth cap, dirty now, and ruinous, the visor pointed as a bird’s beak. He turned the sweat band out and removed a long strip of folded newspaper.