All the time thinkin’.”
“Comes from bein’ a preacher,” Al said. “They get all messed up with stuff.”
“Where ya s’pose Connie was a-goin’?”
“Goin’ to take a crap, I guess.”
“Well, he was goin’ a hell of a long way.”
They walked among the tents, keeping close to the walls.
At Floyd’s tent a soft hail stopped them.
They came near to the tent flap and squatted down.
Floyd raised the canvas a little.
“You gettin’ out?”
Tom said,
“I don’ know.
Think we better?”
Floyd laughed sourly.
“You heard what that bull said.
They’ll burn ya out if ya don’t. ’F you think that guy’s gonna take a beat in’ ’thout gettin’ back, you’re nuts.
The pool-room boys’ll be down here tonight to burn us out.”
“Guess we better git, then,” Tom said. “Where you a-goin’?”
“Why, up north, like I said.”
Al said,
“Look, a fella tol’ me ’bout a gov’ment camp near here.
Where’s it at?”
“Oh, I think that’s full up.”
“Well, where’s it at?”
“Go south on 99’bout twelve-fourteen miles, an’ turn east to Weed-patch.
It’s right near there.
But I think she’s full up.”
“Fella says it’s nice,” Al said.
“Sure, she’s nice. Treat ya like a man ’stead of a dog.
Ain’t no cops there.
But she’s full up.”
Tom said,
“What I can’t understan’s why that cop was so mean.
Seemed like he was aimin’ for trouble; seemed like he’s pokin’ a fella to make trouble.”
Floyd said,
“I don’ know about here, but up north I knowed one a them fellas, an’ he was a nice fella. He tol’ me up there the deputies got to take guys in.
Sheriff gets seventy-five cents a day for each prisoner, an’ he feeds ’em for a quarter.
If he ain’t got prisoners, he don’t make no profit.
This fella says he didn’ pick up nobody for a week, an’ the sheriff tol’ ’im he better bring in guys or give up his button.
This fella today sure looks like he’s out to make a pinch one way or another.”
“We got to get on,” said Tom. “So long, Floyd.”
“So long.
Prob’ly see you.
Hope so.” “Good-by,” said Al.
They walked through the dark gray camp to the Joad tent.
The frying pan of potatoes was hissing and spitting over the fire.
Ma moved the thick slices about with a spoon.
Pa sat near by, hugging his knees.
Rose of Sharon was sitting under the tarpaulin.
“It’s Tom!” Ma cried. “Thank God.”