Гроздья гнева
Chapter 2
«Newshoes,"saidthedriver.Hisvoicehadthesamequalityofsecrecyandinsinuationhiseyeshad.«Yououghtn’totakenowalkinnewshoes—hotweather.»
Thehikerlookeddownatthedustyyellowshoes.«Didn’thavenoothershoes,"hesaid.«Guygottowear’emifhegotnoothers.»Thedriversquintedjudiciouslyaheadandbuiltupthespeedofthetruckalittle.«Goin’far?»
«Uh-uh!I’dawalkedherifmydogswasn’tpoopedout.»Thequestionsofthedriverhadthetoneofasubtleexamination.Heseemedtospreadnets,tosettraps,withhisquestions.«Lookin’forajob?»heasked.
«No,myoldmangotaplace,fortyacres.He’sacropper,butwebeentherealongtime.»
Thedriverlookedsignificantlyatthefieldsalongtheroadwherethecornwasfallensidewaysandthedustwaspiledonit.Littleflintsshovedthroughthedustysoil.Thedriversaid,asthoughtohimself,«Aforty-acrecropperandheain’tbeendustedoutandheain’tbeentractoredout?»
«’CourseIain’theardlately,"saidthehitch-hiker.
«Longtime,"saidthedriver.Abeeflewintothecabandbuzzedinbackofthewindshield.Thedriverputouthishandandcarefullydrovethebeeintoanairstreamthatblewitoutofthewindow.«Croppersgoingfastnow,"hesaid.«Onecat’takesandshovestenfamiliesout.Cat’salloverhellnow.Tearinandshovethecroppersout.How’syouroldmanholdon?»Histongueandhisjawsbecamebusywiththeneglectedgum,turneditandchewedit.Witheachopeningofhismouthhistonguecouldbeseenflippingthegumover.
