In a panic, Lennie looked at George for help. “He can do anything you tell him,” said George. “He’s a good skinner.”
“He can rassel grain bags, drive cultivator. He can do anything. Just give him a try.”
The boss turned on George. “Then why don’t you let him answer? What are you trying to put over?”
George broke in loudly, “Oh! I ain’t saying he’s bright. He ain’t, but I say he’s a God damn good worker. He can put up a four hundred pound bale.”
The boss deliberately put the little book in his pocket. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and squinted one eye nearly closed.
“Say—what you sellin’?” “Huh?” “I said what stake you got in this guy? You takin’ his pay away from him?”
“No, ’course I ain’t. Why ya think I’m sellin’ him out?” “Well, I never seen one guy take so much trouble for another guy.”
“I just like to know what your interest is.” George said, “He’s my... cousin. I told his old lady I’d take care of him.”
“He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a kid. He’s awright. Just ain’t bright. But he can do anything you tell him.”
The boss turned half away. “Well, God knows he don’t need any brains to buck barley bags. But don’t you try to put nothing over, Milton.”
“I got my eye on you. Why’d you quit in Weed?” “Job was done,” said George promptly.
“What kinda job?” “We... we was diggin’ a cesspool.” “All right. But don’t try to put nothing over, ’cause you can’t get away with nothing.”
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