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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Стр. 437/563
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«
An
’
coffee
,
"
said
Tom
.
«
Might
even
get
me
a
sack
a
Durham
.
I
ain
’
t
had
no
tobacca
of
my
own
for
a
long
time
.
»
Far
ahead
the
road
was
blocked
with
cars
,
and
a
line
of
white
motorcycles
was
drawn
up
along
the
roadside
.
«
Mus
’
be
a
wreck
,
"
Tom
said
.
As
they
drew
near
,
a
State
policeman
,
in
boots
and
Sam
Browne
belt
,
stepped
around
the
last
parked
car
.
He
held
up
his
hand
and
Al
pulled
to
a
stop
.
The
policeman
leaned
confidentially
on
the
side
of
the
car
.
«
Where
you
going
?
»
Al
said
,
«
Fella
said
they
was
work
pickin
’
peaches
up
this
way
.
»
«
Want
to
work
,
do
you
?
»
«
Damn
right
,
"
said
Tom
.
«
O
.
K
.
Wait
here
a
minute
.
»
He
moved
to
the
side
of
the
road
and
called
ahead
.
«
One
more
.
That
’
s
six
cars
ready
.
Better
take
this
batch
through
.
»
Tom
called
,
«
Hey
!
What
’
s
the
matter
?
»
The
patrol
man
lounged
back
.
«
Got
a
little
trouble
up
ahead
.
Don
’
t
you
worry
.
You
’
ll
get
through
.
Just
follow
the
line
.
»
There
came
the
splattering
blast
of
motorcycles
starting
.
The
line
of
cars
moved
on
,
with
the
Joad
truck
last
.
Two
motorcycles
led
the
way
,
and
two
followed
.
Tom
said
uneasily
,
«
I
wonder
what
’
s
a
matter
.
»
«
Maybe
the
road
’
s
out
,
"
Al
suggested
.
«
Don
’
need
four
cops
to
lead
us
.
I
don
’
like
it
.
»
The
motorcycles
ahead
speeded
up
.
The
line
of
old
cars
speeded
up
.
