“Well, I’m contracting the land.”
The men were in a compact group now. An overalled man took off his black hat and combed back his long black hair with his fingers. “What you payin’?” he asked.
“Well, can’t tell exactly, yet. ’Bout thirty cents, I guess.”
“Why can’t you tell? You took the contract, didn’ you?”
“That’s true,” the khaki man said. “But it’s keyed to the price. Might be a little more, might be a little less.”
Floyd stepped out ahead. He said quietly, “I’ll go, mister. You’re a contractor, an’ you got a license. You jus’ show your license, an’ then you give us an order to go to work, an’ where, an’ when, an’ how much we’ll get, an’ you sign that, an’ we’ll all go.”
The contractor turned, scowling. “You telling me how to run my own business?”
Floyd said, “’F we’re workin’ for you, it’s our business too.”
“Well, you ain’t telling me what to do. I told you I need men.”
Floyd said angrily, “You didn’ say how many men, an’ you didn’ say what you’d pay.”