О мышах и людях

           Andtheseshelveswereloadedwithlittlearticles,soapandtalcumpowder,razorsandthoseWesternmagazinesranchmenlovetoreadandscoffatandsecretlybelieve.Andthereweremedicinesontheshelves,andlittlevials,combs;andfromnailsontheboxsides,afewneckties.Nearonewalltherewasablackcast-ironstove,itsstovepipegoingstraightupthroughtheceiling.Inthemiddleoftheroomstoodabigsquaretablelitteredwithplayingcards,andarounditweregroupedboxesfortheplayerstositon.

           Ataboutteno’clockinthemorningthesunthrewabrightdust-ladenbarthroughoneofthesidewindows,andinandoutofthebeamfliesshotlikerushingstars.

           Thewoodenlatchraised.Thedooropenedandatall,stoop-shoulderedoldmancamein.Hewasdressedinbluejeansandhecarriedabigpush-broominhislefthand.BehindhimcameGeorge,andbehindGeorge,Lennie.

           «Thebosswasexpectin’youlastnight,"theoldmansaid.«Hewassoreashellwhenyouwasn’theretogooutthismorning.»Hepointedwithhisrightarm,andoutofthesleevecamearoundstick-likewrist,butnohand.«Youcanhavethemtwobedsthere,"hesaid,indicatingtwobunksnearthestove.

           Georgesteppedoverandthrewhisblanketsdownontheburlapsackofstrawthatwasamattress.Helookedintohisboxshelfandthenpickedasmallyellowcanfromit.«Say.Whatthehell’sthis?»

           «Idon’tknow,"saidtheoldman.

           «Says‘positivelykillslice,roachesandotherscourges.’Whatthehellkindofbedyougivingus,anyways.Wedon’twantnopantsrabbits.»