“Nobody can’t tell what a guy’ll do,” he observed calmly. “Le’s say he wants to come back and can’t.”
“S’pose he gets killed or hurt so he can’t come back.” Lennie struggled to understand.
“George won’t do nothing like that,” he repeated. “George is careful. He won’t get hurt. He ain’t never been hurt, ’cause he’s careful.”
“Well, s’pose, jus’ s’pose he don’t come back. What’ll you do then?” Lennie’s face wrinkled with apprehension.
“I don’ know. Say, what you doin’ anyways?” he cried. “This ain’t true. George ain’t got hurt.”
Crooks bored in on him. “Want me to tell ya what’ll happen? They’ll take ya to the booby hatch. They’ll tie ya up with a collar, like a dog.”
Suddenly Lennie’s eyes centered and grew quiet, and mad. He stood up and walked dangerously toward Crooks.
“Who hurt George?” he demanded. Crooks saw the danger as it approached him. He edged back on his bunk to get out of the way.
“I was just supposin’,” he said. “George ain’t hurt. He’s all right. He’ll be back all right.”
Lennie stood over him. “What you supposin’ for? Ain’t nobody goin’ to suppose no hurt to George.”
Crooks removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his fingers. “Jus’ set down,” he said. “George ain’t hurt.”
Lennie growled back to his seat on the nail keg. “Ain’t nobody goin’ to talk no hurt to George,” he grumbled.
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