Behind him came George, and behind George, Lennie. “The boss was expectin’ you last night,” the old man said.
He was sore as hell when you wasn’t here to go out this morning.”
He pointed with his right arm, and out of the sleeve came a round stick-like wrist, but no hand.
You can have them two beds there,” he said, indicating two bunks near the stove.
George stepped over and threw his blankets down on the burlap sack of straw that was a mattress.
He looked into his box shelf and then picked a small yellow can from it.
Say. What the hell’s this?” “I don’t know,” said the old man. “Says ‘positively kills lice, roaches and other scourges.’”
What the hell kind of bed are you giving us, anyway? We don’t want no pants rabbits.
The old swamper shifted his broom and held it between his elbow and his side while he held out his hand for the can.
He studied the label carefully.Tell you what,” he said finally, “last guy that had this bed was a blacksmith—
hell of a nice fella and clean a guy as you want to meet. Used to wash his hands even after he ate.”
“Then how come he got graybacks?” George working up a slow anger.
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