“Come on, Al,” he said quietly. “Bread an’ meat.
We got to get ’em.”
They reached for the fruit and dropped them in the buckets.
Tom ran at his work.
One bucket full, two buckets.
He dumped them in a box.
Three buckets.
The box was full. “I jus’ made a nickel,” he called. He picked up the box and walked hurriedly to the station.
“Here’s a nickel’s worth,” he said to the checker.
The man looked into the box, turned over a peach or two.
“Put it over there.
That’s out,” he said. “I told you not to bruise them. Dumped ’em outa the bucket, didn’t you? Well, every damn peach is bruised. Can’t check that one.
Put ’em in easy or you’re working for nothing.”
“Why—goddamn it——”
“Now go easy.
I warned you before you started.”
Tom’s eyes drooped sullenly.
“O.K.” he said. “O.K.” He went quickly back to the others. “Might’s well dump what you got,” he said. “Yours is the same as mine.
Won’t take ’em.”
“Now, what the hell!” Al began.
“Got to pick easier.
Can’t drop ’em in the bucket. Got to lay ’em in.”
They started again, and this time they handled the fruit gently.
The boxes filled more slowly.
“We could figger somepin out, I bet,” Tom said. “If Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ or Rosasharn jus’ put ’em in the boxes, we could work out a system.” He carried his newest box to the station. “Is this here worth a nickel?”
The checker looked them over, dug down several layers.
“That’s better,” he said. He checked the box in. “Just take it easy.”
Tom hurried back.
“I got a nickel,” he called. “I got a nickel.
On’y got to do that there twenty times for a dollar.”
They worked on steadily through the afternoon.
Ruthie and Winfield found them after a while.
“You got to work,” Pa told them. “You got to put the peaches careful in the box.
Here, now, one at a time.”
The children squatted down and picked the peaches out of the extra bucket, and a line of buckets stood ready for them.
Tom carried the full boxes to the station.
“That’s seven,” he said. “That’s eight.
Forty cents we got.
Get a nice piece of meat for forty cents.”
The afternoon passed.
Ruthie tried to go away.
“I’m tar’d,” she whined. “I got to rest.”
“You got to stay right where you’re at,” said Pa.
Uncle John picked slowly.
He filled one bucket to two of Tom’s.
His pace didn’t change.
In mid-afternoon Ma came trudging out.
“I would a come before, but Rosasharn fainted,” she said. “Jes’ fainted away.”
“You been eatin’ peaches,” she said to the children. “Well, they’ll blast you out.”
Ma’s stubby body moved quickly.