“Well, if ever’body gets there, ain’t gonna be work for nobody.”
“It’s a hell of a long way,” Tom said.
Floyd sounded hurt. “I’m jus’ givin’ you the tip. You don’ have to take it. Your brother here he’ped me, an’ I’m givin’ you the tip.”
“You sure there ain’t no work here?”
“Look, I been scourin’ aroun’ for three weeks all over hell, an’ I ain’t had a bit a work, not a single han’-holt. ’F you wanta look aroun’ an’ burn up gas lookin’, why, go ahead. I ain’t beggin’ you. More that goes, the less chance I got.”
Tom said, “I ain’t findin’ fault. It’s jus’ such a hell of a long ways. An’ we kinda hoped we could get work here an’ rent a house to live in.”
Floyd said patiently, “I know ya jus’ got here. They’s stuff ya got to learn. If you’d let me tell ya, it’d save ya somepin. If ya don’ let me tell ya, then ya got to learn the hard way. You ain’t gonna settle down cause they ain’t no work to settle ya. An’ your belly ain’t gonna let ya settle down. Now—that’s straight.”
“Wisht I could look aroun’ first,” Tom said uneasily.
A sedan drove through the camp and pulled up at the next tent. A man in overalls and a blue shirt climbed out. Floyd called to him, “Any luck?”
“There ain’t a han’-turn of work in the whole darn country, not till cotton pickin’.” And he went into the ragged tent.