Lennie watched them go. “Look, George. Look what I done.” George knelt beside the pool and drank from his hand with quick scoops.
“Tastes all right,” he admitted. “Don’t really seem to be running, though.”
“You never oughta drink water when it ain’t running, Lennie,” he said hopelessly. “You’d drink out of a gutter if you was thirsty.”
He threw a scoop of water into his face and rubbed it about with his hand, under his chin and around the back of his neck.
Then he replaced his hat, pushed himself back from the river, drew up his knees and embraced them.
Lennie, who had been watching, imitated George exactly.
He pushed himself back, drew up his knees, embraced them, looked over to George to see whether he had it just right.
He pulled his hat down a little more over his eyes, the way George’s hat was. George stared morosely at the water.
The rims of his eyes were red with sun glare.
He said angrily, “We could just as well of rode clear to the ranch if that bastard bus driver knew what he was talkin’ about.”
“‘Jes’ a little stretch down the highway,’ he says. ‘Jes’ a little stretch.’”
“God damn near four miles, that’s what it was! Didn’t wanta stop at the ranch gate, that’s what.”
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