An’ folks don’ pass no time of day.
They jus’ hang down their heads an’ won’t even give a fella a howdy.”
“Try an’ tell ’em, Tom.
They’ll get two an’ a half, jus’ the minute we’re gone.
You know what two an’ a half is—that’s one ton of peaches picked an’ carried for a dollar.” He dropped his head.
“No—you can’t do it.
You can’t get your food for that. Can’t eat for that.”
“I’ll try to get to tell the folks.”
“How’s your ma?”
“Purty good.
She liked that gov’ment camp.
Baths an’ hot water.”
“Yeah—I heard.”
“It was pretty nice there.
Couldn’find no work, though.
Had a leave.”
“I’d like to go to one,” said Casy. “Like to see it.
Fella says they ain’t no cops.”
“Folks is their own cops.”
Casy looked up excitedly.
“An’ was they any trouble?
Fightin’, stealin’, drinkin’?”
“No,” said Tom.
“Well, if a fella went bad—what then?
What’d they do?”
“Put ’im outa the camp.”
“But they wasn’ many?”
“Hell, no,” said Tom. “We was there a month, an’ on’y one.”
Casy’s eyes shone with excitement.
He turned to the other men.
“Ya see?” he cried.
“I tol’ you.
Cops cause more trouble than they stop.
Look, Tom.
Try an’ get the folks in there to come on out.
They can do it in a couple days.
Them peaches is ripe.
Tell ’em.”
“They won’t,” said Tom. “They’re a-gettin’ five, an’ they don’ give a damn about nothin’ else.”
“But jus’ the minute they ain’t strikebreakin’ they won’t get no five.”
“I don’ think they’ll swalla that.
Five they’re a-gettin’.
Tha’s all they care about.”
“Well, tell ’em anyways.”
“Pa wouldn’ do it,” Tom said. “I know ’im.
He’d say it wasn’t none of his business.”
“Yes,” Casy said disconsolately. “I guess that’s right.
Have to take a beatin’ ’fore he’ll know.”
“We was outa food,” Tom said. “Tonight we had meat. Not much, but we had it.
Think Pa’s gonna give up his meat on account a other fellas?