George cut the cards and began turning them over, looking at each one and throwing it down on a pile.
He said, “This guy Curley sounds like a son-of-a-bitch to me. I don’t like mean little guys.”
“Seems to me like he’s worse lately,” said the swamper. “He got married a couple of weeks ago. Wife lives over in the boss’s house.”
“Seems like Curley is cockier’n ever since he got married.” George grunted, “Maybe he’s showin’ off for his wife.”
The swamper warmed to his gossip. “You seen that glove on his left hand?” “Yeah. I seen it.”
“Well, that glove’s fulla vaseline.” “Vaseline? What the hell for?”
“Well, I tell ya what—Curley says he’s keepin’ that hand soft for his wife.”
George studied the cards absorbedly. “That’s a dirty thing to tell around,” he said.
The old man was reassured. He had drawn a derogatory statement from George. He felt safe now, and he spoke more confidently.
“Wait’ll you see Curley’s wife.” George cut the cards again and put out a solitaire lay, slowly and deliberately.
“Purty?” he asked casually. “Yeah. Purty... but—” George studied his cards. “But what?”
“Well—she got the eye.” “Yeah? Married two weeks and got the eye? Maybe that’s why Curley’s pants is full of ants.”
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