“I seen wise guys before. Go on out with the grain teams after dinner. They’re pickin’ up barley at the threshing machine. Go out with Slim’s team.”
“Slim?” “Yeah. Big tall skinner. You’ll see him at dinner.” He turned abruptly and went to the door,
but before he went out he turned and looked for a long moment at the two men. When the sound of his footsteps had died away George turned on Lennie.
“So you wasn’t gonna say a word. You was gonna leave your big flapper shut and leave me do the talkin’. Damn near lost us the job.”
Lennie stared hopelessly at his hands. “I forgot George.” “Yeah, you forgot. You always forget, an’ I got to talk you out of it.”
He sat down heavily on the bunk. “Now he’s got his eye on us. Now we got to be careful and not make no slips.”
“You keep your big flapper shut after this.” He fell morosely silent. “George.” “What you want now?”
“I wasn’t kicked in the head with no horse, was I, George?” “Be a damn good thing if you was,” George said viciously.
“Save ever’body a hell of a lot of trouble.” “You said I was your cousin, George.” “Well, that was a lie.”
“An’ I’m damn glad it was. If I was a relative of yours I’d shoot myself.” He stopped suddenly, stepped to the open front door and peered out.
“Say, what the hell you doin’ listenin’?” The old man came slowly into the room. He had his broom in his hand.
And at his heels there walked a dragfooted sheepdog, gray of muzzle, and with pale, blind old eyes.
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