Immediately Lennie got up and did the same with his bed. Finally George seemed satisfied.
He unrolled his bindle and put things on the shelf, his razor and bar of soap,
his comb and bottle of pills, his liniment and leather wristband. Then he made his bed up neatly with blankets.
The old man said, “I guess the boss’ll be out here in a minute. He was sure burned when you wasn’t here this morning.
Come right in when we was eatin’ breakfast and says, ‘Where the hell’s them new men?’ And he gave the stable buck hell, too.”
George patted a wrinkle out of his bed, and sat down. “Give the stable buck hell?” he asked. “Sure. Ya see the stable buck’s a nigger.”
“Nigger, huh?” “Yeah. Nice fella too. Got a crooked back where a horse kicked him.”
“The boss gives him hell when he’s mad. But the stable buck don’t give a damn about that. He reads a lot. Got books in his room.”
“What kind of a guy is the boss?” George asked. “Well, he’s a pretty nice fella. Gets pretty mad sometimes, but he’s pretty nice.”
“Tell ya what—know what he done Christmas? Brang a gallon of whisky right in here and say ‘Drink hearty boys. Christmas comes but once a year.’”
“The hell he did! Whole gallon?” “Yes sir. Jesus, we had fun. They let the nigger come in that night.”
“Little skinner name of Smitty took after the nigger. Done pretty good, too. The guys wouldn’t let him use his feet, so the nigger got him.”
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