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- Джон Стейнбек
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"
Why
don
’
t
you
make
the
speech
tomorrow
?
You
can
talk
.
"
"
Hell
,
no
.
You
’
re
the
boss
.
The
guys
’
d
be
sore
if
I
sounded
off
.
They
expect
you
to
do
it
.
"
"
Well
,
what
do
I
got
to
say
?
"
Mac
drove
the
screws
in
,
one
after
another
.
"
Tell
’
em
the
usual
stuff
.
Tell
’
em
Joy
died
for
’
em
.
Tell
’
em
he
was
tryin
’
to
help
’
em
,
and
the
best
they
can
do
for
him
is
to
help
’
emselves
by
stickin
’
together
,
see
?
"
"
Yeah
,
I
get
it
.
"
Mac
stood
up
and
regarded
the
grained
wood
of
the
lid
.
"
I
hope
somebody
tries
to
stop
us
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
hope
some
of
them
damn
vigilantes
gets
in
our
way
.
God
,
I
hope
they
try
to
stop
us
paradin
’
through
town
.
"
"
Yeah
,
I
see
,
"
said
London
.
Jim
’
s
eyes
glowed
.
He
repeated
,
"
I
hope
so
.
"
"
The
guys
’
ll
want
to
fight
,
"
Mac
continued
.
"
They
’
ll
be
all
sore
inside
.
They
’
ll
want
to
bust
something
.
Them
vigilantes
ain
’
t
got
much
sense
;
I
hope
they
’
re
crazy
enough
to
start
something
tomorrow
.
"
Burton
stood
up
wearily
from
his
box
and
walked
up
to
Mac
.
He
touched
him
lightly
on
the
shoulder
.
"
Mac
,
"
he
said
,
"
you
’
re
the
craziest
mess
of
cruelty
and
haus
-
frau
sentimentality
,
of
clear
vision
and
rose
-
colored
glasses
I
ever
saw
.
I
don
’
t
know
how
you
manage
to
be
all
of
them
at
once
.
"
