“We got the best dances in the county every Saturday night.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake! Why ain’t they more places like this?”
The watchman looked sullen. “You’ll have to find that out yourself. Go get some sleep.”
“Good night,” said Tom. “Ma’s gonna like this place. She ain’t been treated decent for a long time.”
“Good night,” the watchman said. “Get some sleep. This camp wakes up early.”
Tom walked down the street between the rows of tents. His eyes grew used to the starlight. He saw that the rows were straight and that there was no litter about the tents. The ground of the street had been swept and sprinkled. From the tents came the snores of sleeping people. The whole camp buzzed and snorted. Tom walked slowly. He neared Number Four Sanitary Unit and he looked at it curiously, an unpainted building, low and rough. Under a roof, but open at the sides, the rows of wash trays. He saw the Joad truck standing near by, and went quietly toward it. The tarpaulin was pitched and the camp was quiet. As he drew near a figure moved from the shadow of the truck and came toward him.
Ma said softly, “That you, Tom?”
“Yeah.”
“Sh!” she said. “They’re all asleep. They was tar’d out.”
“You ought to be asleep too,” Tom said.