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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Стр. 3/563
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And
she
replied
,
«
Guy
took
the
jackpot
not
two
hours
ago
.
Three
-
eighty
he
got
.
How
soon
you
gonna
be
back
by
?
»
He
held
the
screen
door
a
little
open
.
«
Week
-
ten
days
,
"
he
said
.
«
Got
to
make
a
run
to
Tulsa
,
an
’
I
never
get
back
soon
as
I
think
.
»
She
said
crossly
,
«
Don
’
t
let
the
flies
in
.
Either
go
out
or
come
in
.
»
«
So
long
,
"
he
said
,
and
pushed
his
way
out
.
The
screen
door
banged
behind
him
.
He
stood
in
the
sun
,
peeling
the
wrapper
from
a
piece
of
gum
.
He
was
a
heavy
man
,
broad
in
the
shoulders
,
thick
in
the
stomach
.
His
face
was
red
and
his
blue
eyes
long
and
slitted
from
having
squinted
always
at
sharp
light
.
He
wore
army
trousers
and
high
laced
boots
.
Holding
the
stick
of
gum
in
front
of
his
lips
he
called
through
the
screen
,
«
Well
,
don
’
t
do
nothing
you
don
’
t
want
me
to
hear
about
.
»
The
waitress
was
turned
toward
a
mirror
on
the
back
wall
.
She
grunted
a
reply
.
The
truck
driver
gnawed
down
the
stick
of
gum
slowly
,
opening
his
jaws
and
lips
wide
with
each
bite
.
He
shaped
the
gum
in
his
mouth
,
rolled
it
under
his
tongue
while
he
walked
to
the
big
red
truck
.
The
hitch
-
hiker
stood
up
and
looked
across
through
the
windows
.
«
Could
ya
give
me
a
lift
,
mister
?
»
The
driver
looked
quickly
back
at
the
restaurant
for
a
second
.
«
Didn
’
t
you
see
the
No
Riders
sticker
on
the
win
’
shield
?
»
«
Sure
—
I
seen
it
.
But
sometimes
a
guy
’
ll
be
a
good
guy
even
if
some
rich
bastard
makes
him
carry
a
sticker
.
»
The
driver
,
getting
slowly
into
the
truck
,
considered
the
parts
of
this
answer
.
If
he
refused
now
,
not
only
was
he
not
a
good
guy
,
but
he
was
forced
to
carry
a
sticker
,
was
not
allowed
to
have
company
.
If
he
took
in
the
hitch
-
hiker
he
was
automatically
a
good
guy
and
also
he
was
not
one
whom
any
rich
bastard
could
kick
around
.
He
knew
he
was
being
trapped
,
but
he
couldn
’
t
see
a
way
out
.
And
he
wanted
to
be
a
good
guy
.
He
glanced
again
at
the
restaurant
.
«
Scrunch
down
on
the
running
board
till
we
get
around
the
bend
,
"
he
said
.
The
hitch
-
hiker
flopped
down
out
of
sight
and
clung
to
the
door
handle
.
The
motor
roared
up
for
a
moment
,
the
gears
clicked
in
,
and
the
great
truck
moved
away
,
first
gear
,
second
gear
,
third
gear
,
and
then
a
high
whining
pick
-
up
and
fourth
gear
.
Under
the
clinging
man
the
highway
blurred
dizzily
by
.
It
was
a
mile
to
the
first
turn
in
the
road
,
then
the
truck
slowed
down
.
The
hitch
-
hiker
stood
up
,
eased
the
door
open
,
and
slipped
into
the
seat
.
The
driver
looked
over
at
him
,
slitting
his
eyes
,
and
he
chewed
as
though
thoughts
and
impressions
were
being
sorted
and
arranged
by
his
jaws
before
they
were
finally
filed
away
in
his
brain
.
His
eyes
began
at
the
new
cap
,
moved
down
the
new
clothes
to
the
new
shoes
.
The
hitch
-
hiker
squirmed
his
back
against
the
seat
in
comfort
,
took
off
his
cap
,
and
swabbed
his
sweating
forehead
and
chin
with
it
.
«
Thanks
,
buddy
,
"
he
said
.
«
My
dogs
was
pooped
out
.
»
«
New
shoes
,
"
said
the
driver
.
His
voice
had
the
same
quality
of
secrecy
and
insinuation
his
eyes
had
.
«
You
oughtn
’
to
take
no
walk
in
new
shoes
—
hot
weather
.
»
The
hiker
looked
down
at
the
dusty
yellow
shoes
.
«
Didn
’
t
have
no
other
shoes
,
"
he
said
.
«
Guy
got
to
wear
’
em
if
he
got
no
others
.
»
The
driver
squinted
judiciously
ahead
and
built
up
the
speed
of
the
truck
a
little
.
«
Goin
’
far
?
»
«
Uh
-
uh
!
I
’
d
a
walked
her
if
my
dogs
wasn
’
t
pooped
out
.
»
The
questions
of
the
driver
had
the
tone
of
a
subtle
examination
.
He
seemed
to
spread
nets
,
to
set
traps
,
with
his
questions
.
«
Lookin
’
for
a
job
?
»
he
asked
.
«
No
,
my
old
man
got
a
place
,
forty
acres
.
He
’
s
a
cropper
,
but
we
been
there
a
long
time
.
»
