“It ain’t your fault,” he said. “This punk sure had it comin’ to him. But—Jesus! He ain’t hardly got no han’ left.”
Slim hurried out, and in a moment returned with a tin cup of water. He held it to Curley’s lips.
George said, “Slim, will we get canned now? We need the stake. Will Curley’s old man can us now?”
Slim smiled wryly. He knelt down beside Curley. “You got your senses in hand enough to listen?” he asked.
Curley nodded. “Well, then listen,” Slim went on. “I think you got your han’ caught in a machine.”
“If you don’t tell nobody what happened, we ain’t going to.”
“But you jus’ tell an’ try to get this guy canned and we’ll tell ever’body, an’ then will you get the laugh.”
“I won’t tell,” said Curley. He avoided looking at Lennie.
Buggy wheels sounded outside. Slim helped Curley up.
“Come on now. Carlson’s gonna take you to a doctor.” He helped Curley out the door.
The sound of wheels drew away. In a moment Slim came back into the bunk house.
He looked at Lennie, still crouched fearfully against the wall.
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