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- Стр. 118/317
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"
Give
me
some
work
,
"
Jim
said
.
"
No
,
you
stay
close
.
I
may
need
you
.
"
The
five
acres
of
plow
land
on
the
Anderson
place
was
surrounded
on
three
sides
by
big
,
dark
apple
trees
;
and
on
the
fourth
it
was
bounded
by
the
narrow
,
dusty
county
road
.
The
men
had
arrived
in
droves
,
laughing
and
shouting
to
one
another
,
and
they
had
found
preparations
made
for
them
.
Stakes
were
driven
into
the
soft
ground
defining
the
streets
for
the
camp
.
There
were
five
streets
running
parallel
to
the
county
road
,
and
opposite
the
end
of
each
street
a
deep
hole
was
dug
in
the
ground
as
a
toilet
.
Before
the
work
of
building
the
camp
started
,
they
held
their
general
meeting
with
some
order
;
elected
Dakin
chairman
and
assented
to
his
committee
.
They
agreed
with
enthusiasm
to
the
suggestion
of
the
squads
.
Hardly
had
they
begun
to
assemble
when
five
motorcycle
police
rode
up
and
parked
their
motors
in
the
county
road
.
They
leaned
against
the
machines
and
watched
the
work
.
Tents
were
pitched
,
and
shelters
laid
out
.
The
sad
-
eyed
Dr
.
Burton
was
everywhere
,
ordering
the
building
of
the
camp
.
At
least
a
hundred
old
automobiles
lined
the
road
,
drawn
up
like
caissons
in
an
artillery
park
,
all
facing
out
toward
the
road
.
There
were
ancient
Fords
,
ravaged
in
their
upholstery
;
Chevrolets
and
Dodges
with
rusty
noses
,
paintless
,
with
loose
fenders
or
no
fenders
at
all
.
There
were
worn
-
out
Hudsons
that
made
a
noise
like
machine
-
guns
when
they
were
starting
.
They
stood
like
aged
soldiers
at
a
reunion
.
At
one
end
of
the
line
of
cars
stood
Dakin
’
s
Chevrolet
truck
,
clean
and
new
and
shiny
.
Alone
of
all
the
cars
it
was
in
good
condition
;
and
Dakin
,
as
he
walked
about
the
camp
,
surrounded
by
members
of
his
committee
,
rarely
got
out
of
sight
of
his
truck
.
As
he
talked
or
listened
his
cold
,
secret
eyes
went
again
and
again
to
his
shining
green
truck
.
When
the
grey
old
tents
were
pitched
Burton
insisted
that
the
canvas
be
scrubbed
with
soap
and
water
.
Dakin
’
s
truck
brought
barrels
of
water
from
Anderson
’
s
tank
.
The
women
washed
the
tents
with
old
brooms
.
Anderson
walked
out
and
watched
with
worried
eyes
while
his
five
acres
was
transformed
into
a
camp
.
By
noon
it
was
ready
;
and
nine
hundred
men
went
to
work
in
the
orchard
,
picking
apples
into
their
cooking
kettles
,
into
their
hats
,
into
gunny
sacks
.
There
were
not
nearly
ladders
enough
.
The
men
climbed
up
the
trunks
into
the
trees
.
By
dark
the
crop
was
picked
,
the
lines
of
boxes
filled
,
the
boxes
trucked
to
Anderson
’
s
barn
and
stored
.
Dick
had
worked
quickly
.
He
sent
a
boy
to
ask
for
men
and
a
truck
to
meet
him
in
town
,
and
the
truck
came
back
loaded
with
tents
of
all
kinds
—
umbrella
tents
of
pale
brown
canvas
,
pup
-
tents
,
low
and
peaked
,
big
troop
tents
with
room
in
them
for
ten
men
.
And
the
truck
brought
two
sacks
of
rolled
oats
and
sacks
of
flour
,
cases
of
canned
goods
,
sacks
of
potatoes
and
onions
and
a
slaughtered
cow
.
The
new
tents
went
up
along
the
streets
.
Dr
.
Burton
superintended
the
cooking
arrangements
.
Trucks
went
out
to
the
city
dump
and
brought
back
three
rusty
,
discarded
stoves
.
Pieces
of
tin
covered
the
gaping
tops
.
Cooks
were
assigned
,
washtubs
filled
with
water
,
the
cow
cut
up
and
potatoes
and
onions
set
to
cooking
in
tremendous
stews
.
Buckets
of
beans
were
boiled
.
In
the
dusk
,
when
the
picking
was
over
,
the
men
came
in
and
found
tubs
of
stew
waiting
for
them
.
They
sat
on
the
ground
and
ate
from
basins
and
cups
and
tin
cans
.
As
darkness
fell
,
the
motorcycle
police
were
relieved
by
five
deputy
sheriffs
armed
with
rifles
.
For
a
time
they
marched
up
and
down
the
road
in
military
manner
,
but
finally
they
sat
in
the
ditch
and
watched
the
men
.
There
were
few
lights
in
the
camp
.
Here
and
there
a
tent
was
lighted
with
a
lantern
.
The
flares
of
little
fires
threw
shadows
.
