He dragged the last smoke from his raveling cigarette and then, with callused thumb and forefinger, crushed out the glowing end.
He rubbed the butt to a pulp and put it out the window, letting the breeze suck it from his fingers.
The big tires sang a high note on the pavement.
Joad’s dark quiet eyes became amused as he stared along the road.
The driver waited and glanced uneasily over.
At last Joad’s long upper lip grinned up from his teeth and he chuckled silently, his chest jerked with the chuckles.
“You sure took a hell of a long time to get to it, buddy.”
The driver did not look over.
“Get to what?
How do you mean?”
Joad’s lips stretched tight over his long teeth for a moment, and he licked his lips like a dog, two licks, one in each direction from the middle.
His voice became harsh.
“You know what I mean.
You give me a goin’-over when I first got in.
I seen you.”
The driver looked straight ahead, gripped the wheel so tightly that the pads of his palms bulged, and the backs of his hands paled.
Joad continued,
“You know where I come from.”
The driver was silent.
“Don’t you?” Joad insisted.
“Well—sure. That is—maybe.
But it ain’t none of my business.
I mind my own yard.
It ain’t nothing to me.” The words tumbled out now. “I don’t stick my nose in nobody’s business.” And suddenly he was silent and waiting.
And his hands were still white on the wheel.
A grasshopper flipped through the window and lighted on top of the instrument panel, where it sat and began to scrape its wings with its angled jumping legs.
Joad reached forward and crushed its hard skull-like head with his fingers, and he let it into the wind stream out the window.
Joad chuckled again while he brushed the bits of broken insect from his fingertips.
“You got me wrong, mister,” he said.
“I ain’t keepin’ quiet about it.
Sure I been in McAlester.
Been there four years.
Sure these is the clothes they give me when I come out.
I don’t give a damn who knows it.
An’ I’m goin’ to my old man’s place so I don’t have to lie to get a job.”
The driver said,
“Well—that ain’t none of my business.
I ain’t a nosy guy.”
“The hell you ain’t,” said Joad. “That big old nose of yours been stickin’ out eight miles ahead of your face.
You had that big nose goin’ over me like a sheep in a vegetable patch.”
The driver’s face tightened.
“You got me all wrong—” he began weakly.
Joad laughed at him.
“You been a good guy. You give me a lift.
Well, hell! I done time.
So what!
You want to know what I done time for, don’t you?”
“That ain’t none of my affair.”
“Nothin’ ain’t none of your affair except skinnin’ this here bull-bitch along, an’ that’s the least thing you work at.
Now look.