Workin’ an’ gettin’ our pay an’ eatin’.” He fell to again, almost frantically, and refilled his plate.
They drank the scalding coffee and threw the grounds to the earth and filled their cups again.
There was color in the light now, a reddish gleam.
The father and son stopped eating.
They were facing to the east and their faces were lighted by the dawn. The image of the mountain and the light coming over it were reflected in their eyes.
And then they threw the grounds from their cups to the earth, and they stood up together.
“Got to git goin’,” the older man said.
The younger turned to Tom. “Lookie,” he said.
“We’re layin’ some pipe. ’F you want to walk over with us, maybe we could get you on.”
Tom said,
“Well, that’s mighty nice of you.
An’ I sure thank ya for the breakfast.”
“Glad to have you,” the older man said. “We’ll try to git you workin’ if you want.”
“Ya goddamn right I want,” Tom said. “Jus’ wait a minute.
I’ll tell my folks.” He hurried to the Joad tent and bent over and looked inside.
In the gloom under the tarpaulin he saw the lumps of sleeping figures.
But a little movement started among the bedclothes.
Ruthie came wriggling out like a snake, her hair down over her eyes and her dress wrinkled and twisted.
She crawled carefully out and stood up.
Her gray eyes were clear and calm from sleep, and mischief was not in them.
Tom moved off from the tent and beckoned her to follow, and when he turned, she looked up at him.
“Lord God, you’re growin’ up,” he said.
She looked away in sudden embarrassment.
“Listen here,” Tom said. “Don’t you wake nobody up, but when they get up, you tell ’em I got a chancet at a job, an’ I’m a-goin’ for it.
Tell Ma I et breakfas’ with some neighbors.
You hear that?”
Ruthie nodded and turned her head away, and her eyes were little girl’s eyes.
“Don’t you wake ’em up,” Tom cautioned.
He hurried back to his new friends.
And Ruthie cautiously approached the sanitary unit and peeked in the open doorway.
The two men were waiting when Tom came back.
The young woman had dragged a mattress out and put the baby on it while she cleaned up the dishes.
Tom said,
“I wanted to tell my folks where-at I was.
They wasn’t awake.” The three walked down the street between the tents.
The camp had begun to come to life.
At the new fires the women worked, slicing meat, kneading the dough for the morning’s bread.
And the men were stirring about the tents and about the automobiles.
The sky was rosy now.
In front of the office a lean old man raked the ground carefully.
He so dragged his rake that the tine marks were straight and deep.
“You’re out early, Pa,” the young man said as they went by.
“Yep, yep.
Got to make up my rent.”
“Rent, hell!” the young man said. “He was drunk last Sat’dy night. Sung in his tent all night. Committee give him work for it.” They walked along the edge of the oiled road; a row of walnut trees grew beside the way.
The sun shoved its edge over the mountains.
Tom said, “Seems funny. I’ve et your food, an’ I ain’t tol’ you my name—nor you ain’t mentioned yours. I’m Tom Joad.”
The older man looked at him, and then he smiled a little.
“You ain’t been out here long?”
“Hell, no! Jus’ a couple days.”