“Tell about the house, George,” Lennie begged. “Sure, we’d have a little house an’ a room to ourself.”
Little fat iron stove, an’ in the winter we’d keep a fire goin’ in it.”
It ain’t enough land so we’d have to work too hard. Maybe six, seven hours a day.
We wouldn’t have to buck no barley eleven hours a day.
An’ when we put in a crop, why, we’d be there to take the crop up. We’d know what come of our planting.”
“An’ rabbits,” Lennie said eagerly. “An’ I’d take care of ’em. Tell how I’d do that, George.”
Sure, you’d go out in the alfalfa patch an’ you’d have a sack.
You’d fill up the sack and bring it in an’ put it in the rabbit cages.”
“They’d nibble an’ they’d nibble,” said Lennie, “the way they do. I seen ’em.”
“Ever’ six weeks or so,” George continued, “them does would throw a litter so we’d have plenty rabbits to eat an’ to sell.”
“An’ we’d keep a few pigeons to go flyin’ around the win’mill like they done when I was a kid.”
He looked raptly at the wall over Lennie’s head. “An’ it’d be our own, an’ nobody could can us.”
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