an’ when we kill a pig we can smoke the bacon and the hams, and make sausage an’ all like that.
An’ when the salmon run up river we could catch a hundred of ’em an’ salt ’em down or smoke ’em.
We could have them for breakfast. They ain’t nothing so nice as smoked salmon.
When the fruit come in we could can it—and tomatoes, they’re easy to can.
Ever’ Sunday we’d kill a chicken or a rabbit. Maybe we’d have a cow or a goat,
and the cream is so God damn thick you got to cut it with a knife and take it out with a spoon.”
Lennie watched him with wide eyes, and old Candy watched him too.
Lennie said softly, “We could live offa the fatta the lan’.”
“Sure,” said George. “All kin’s a vegetables in the garden,
and if we want a little whisky we can sell a few eggs or something, or some milk.
We’d jus’ live there. We’d belong there. There wouldn’t be no more runnin’ round the country and gettin’ fed by a Jap cook.
No, sir, we’d have our own place where we belonged and not sleep in no bunk house.
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