“God knows. We worked this here place over.” He let in his clutch and moved slowly down the camp.
Al looked after them. “Wouldn’ it be better if one fella went alone?
Then if they was one piece of work, a fella’d get it.”
Floyd put down the chisel and smiled sourly. “You ain’t learned,” he said. “Takes gas to get roun’ the country. Gas costs fifteen cents a gallon. Them four fellas can’t take four cars. So each of ’em puts in a dime an’ they get gas. You got to learn.”
“Al!”
Al looked down at Winfield standing importantly beside him. “Al, Ma’s dishin’ up stew. She says come git it.”
Al wiped his hands on his trousers. “We ain’t et today,” he said to Floyd. “I’ll come give you a han’ when I eat.”
“No need ’less you want ta.”
“Sure, I’ll do it.” He followed Winfield toward the Joad camp.
It was crowded now. The strange children stood close to the stew pot, so close that Ma brushed them with her elbows as she worked. Tom and Uncle John stood beside her.