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- Джон Стейнбек
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Timothy
had
changed
.
His
shoulders
were
straight
and
his
eyes
cold
.
«
What
you
mean
?
»
«
Don
’
t
you
ever
tell
where
you
heard
,
"
Thomas
said
uneasily
.
«
There
’
s
going
to
be
a
fight
in
the
camp
Saturday
night
.
And
there
’
s
going
to
be
deputies
ready
to
go
in
.
»
Tom
demanded
,
«
Why
,
for
God
’
s
sake
?
Those
folks
ain
’
t
bothering
nobody
.
»
«
I
’
ll
tell
you
why
,
"
Thomas
said
.
«
Those
folks
in
the
camp
are
getting
used
to
being
treated
like
humans
.
When
they
go
back
to
the
squatters
’
camps
they
’
ll
be
hard
to
handle
.
»
He
wiped
his
face
again
.
«
Go
on
out
to
work
now
.
Jesus
,
I
hope
I
haven
’
t
talked
myself
out
of
my
farm
.
But
I
like
you
people
.
»
Timothy
stepped
in
front
of
him
and
put
out
a
hard
lean
hand
,
and
Thomas
took
it
.
«
Nobody
won
’
t
know
who
tol
’
.
We
thank
you
.
They
won
’
t
be
no
fight
.
»
«
Go
on
to
work
,
"
Thomas
said
.
«
And
it
’
s
twenty
-
five
cents
an
hour
.
»
«
We
’
ll
take
it
,
"
Wilkie
said
,
«
from
you
.
»
Thomas
walked
away
toward
the
house
.
«
I
’
ll
be
out
in
a
piece
,
"
he
said
.
«
You
men
get
to
work
.
»
The
screen
door
slammed
behind
him
.
The
three
men
walked
out
past
the
little
white
-
washed
barn
,
and
along
a
field
edge
.
They
came
to
a
long
narrow
ditch
with
sections
of
concrete
pipe
lying
beside
it
.
