Гроздья гнева
Chapter 8
Oneofthem,stretchinghisneck,edgedforward,readytorun,andlittlebylittleheapproachedTom’slegsandsniffedloudlyatthem.ThenhebackedawayandwatchedPaforsomekindofsignal.Theotherpupwasnotsobrave.Helookedaboutforsomethingthatcouldhonorablydiverthisattention,sawaredchickengomincingby,andranatit.Therewasthesquawkofanoutragedhen,aburstofredfeathers,andthehenranoff,flappingstubbywingsforspeed.Thepuplookedproudlybackatthemen,andthenfloppeddowninthedustandbeatitstailcontentedlyontheground.
"Comeon,"saidPa,"comeoninnow.Shegottoseeyou.Igottoseeherfacewhensheseesyou.Comeon.She’llyellbreakfastinaminute.Iheardherslapthesaltporkinthepanagoodtimeago."Heledthewayacrossthefine-dustedground.Therewasnoporchonthishouse,justastepandthenthedoor;achoppingblockbesidethedoor,itssurfacemattedandsoftfromyearsofchopping.Thegraininginthesheathingwoodwashigh,forthedusthadcutdownthesofterwood.Thesmellofburningwillowwasintheair,andasthethreemennearedthedoor,thesmelloffryingside-meatandthesmellofhighbrownbiscuitsandthesharpsmellofcoffeerollinginthepot.Pasteppedupintotheopendoorwayandstoodthereblockingitwithhiswideshortbody.Hesaid,"Ma,there’sacouplafellasjus’comealongtheroad,an’theywonderifwecouldspareabite."
Tomheardhismother’svoice,therememberedcool,calmdrawl,friendlyandhumble.
