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Chapter 22
Theyturnedoffthehighwayandwalkeddownagraveledroad,throughasmallkitchenorchard;andbehindthetreestheycametoasmallwhitefarmhouse,afewshadetrees,andabarn;behindthebarnavineyardandafieldofcotton.Asthethreemenwalkedpastthehouseascreendoorbanged,andastockysunburnedmancamedownthebacksteps.Heworeapapersunhelmet,andherolleduphissleevesashecameacrosstheyard.Hisheavysunburnedeyebrowsweredrawndowninascowl.Hischeeksweresunburnedabeefred.
«Mornin’,Mr.Thomas,"Timothysaid.
«Morning.»Themanspokeirritably.
Timothysaid,«Thishere’sTomJoad.Wewonderedifyoucouldseeyourwaytoputhimon?»
ThomasscowledatTom.Andthenhelaughedshortly,andhisbrowsstillscowled.«Oh,sure!I’llputhimon.I’llputeverybodyon.MaybeI’llgetahundredmenon.»
«Wejus’thought—"Timothybeganapologetically.
Thomasinterruptedhim.«Yes,Ibeenthinkin’too.»Heswungaroundandfacedthem.«I’vegotsomethingstotellyou.Ibeenpayingyouthirtycentsanhour—thatright?»
«Why,sure,Mr.Thomas—but—"
«AndIbeengettingthirtycents’worthofwork.»Hisheavyhardhandsclaspedeachother.
«Wetrytogiveagooddayofwork.»
«Well,goddamnit,thismorningyou’regettingtwenty-fivecentsanhour,andyoutakeitorleaveit.»Therednessofhisfacedeepenedwithanger.
Timothysaid,«We’vegiveyougoodwork.Yousaidsoyourself.»
«Iknowit.ButitseemslikeIain’thiringmyownmenanymore.»
Heswallowed.
