Pa said, “When we get there. Gettin’ there’s the trouble.”
“Oh, but she’s worth it,” said Wilson. “Why, I seen han’bills how they need folks to pick fruit, an’ good wages. Why, jus’ think how it’s gonna be, under them shady trees a-pickin’ fruit an’ takin’ a bite ever’ once in a while. Why, hell, they don’t care how much you eat ’cause they got so much. An’ with them good wages, maybe a fella can get hisself a little piece a land an’ work out for extra cash. Why, hell, in a couple years I bet a fella could have a place of his own.”
Pa said, “We seen them han’bills. I got one right here.” He took out his purse and from it took a folded orange handbill. In black type it said, “Pea Pickers Wanted in California. Good Wages All Season. 800 Pickers Wanted.”
Wilson looked at it curiously. “Why, that’s the one I seen. The very same one. You s’pose—maybe they got all eight hunderd awready?”
Pa said, “This is jus’ one little part a California. Why, that’s the secon’ biggest State we got. S’pose they did get all them eight hunderd. They’s plenty places else. I rather pick fruit anyways. Like you says, under them trees an’ pickin’ fruit—why, even the kids’d like to do that.”
Suddenly Al got up and walked to the Wilsons’ touring car. He looked in for a moment and then came back and sat down.
“You can’t fix her tonight,” Wilson said.
“I know. I’ll get to her in the morning.” Tom had watched his young brother carefully. “I was thinkin’ somepin like that myself,” he said.
Noah asked, “What you two fellas talkin’ about?”
Tom and Al went silent, each waiting for the other. “You tell ’em,” Al said finally.