A head stuck out of the tent.
A voice said,
“What’s the matter?”
“Casy!” Tom cried. “Casy!
For Chris’ sake, what you doin’ here?”
“Why, my God, it’s Tom Joad!
Come on in, Tommy. Come on in.”
“Know him, do ya?” the man in front asked.
“Know him?
Christ, yes.
Knowed him for years.
I come west with him.
Come on in, Tom.” He clutched Tom’s elbow and pulled him into the tent.
Three other men sat on the ground, and in the center of the tent a lantern burned.
The men looked up suspiciously.
A dark-faced, scowling man held out his hand.
“Glad to meet ya,” he said. “I heard what Casy said.
This the fella you was tellin’ about?”
“Sure. This is him.
Well, for God’s sake!
Where’s your folks?
What you doin’ here?”
“Well,” said Tom, “we heard they was work this-a-way.
An’ we come, an’ a bunch a State cops run us into this here ranch an’ we been a-pickin’ peaches all afternoon.
I seen a bunch a fellas yellin’.
They wouldn’ tell me nothin’, so I come out here to see what’s goin’ on.
How’n hell’d you get here, Casy?”
The preacher leaned forward and the yellow lantern light fell on his high pale forehead. “Jail house is a kinda funny place,” he said. “Here’s me, been a-goin’ into the wilderness like Jesus to try find out somepin. Almost got her sometimes, too.
But it’s in the jail house I really got her.” His eyes were sharp and merry. “Great big ol’ cell, an’ she’s full all a time.
New guys come in, and guys go out.
An’ ’course I talked to all of ’em.”
“’Course you did,” said Tom. “Always talk.
If you was up on the gallows you’d be passin’ the time a day with the hangman.
Never seen sech a talker.”
The men in the tent chuckled.
A wizened little man with a wrinkled face slapped his knee.
“Talks all the time,” he said. “Folks kinda likes to hear ’im, though.”
“Use’ ta be a preacher,” said Tom. “Did he tell that?”
“Sure, he told.” Casy grinned.
“Well, sir,” he went on, “I begin gettin’ at things.
Some a them fellas in the tank was drunks, but mostly they was there ’cause they stole stuff; an’ mostly it was stuff they needed an’ couldn’ get no other way.
Ya see?” he asked.
“No,” said Tom.
“Well, they was nice fellas, ya see.
What made ’em bad was they needed stuff.
An’ I begin to see, then. It’s need that makes all the trouble.
I ain’t got it worked out.
Well, one day they give us some beans that was sour.
One fella started yellin’, an’ nothin’ happened.
He yelled his head off.