She turned half to Ma. “If a body’s ever took charity, it makes a burn that don’t come out. This ain’t charity, but if you ever took it, you don’t forget it. I bet Jessie ain’t ever done it.”
“No, I ain’t,” said Jessie.
“Well, I did,” Annie said. “Las’ winter; an’ we was a starvin’—me an’ Pa an’ the little fellas. An’ it was a-rainin’. Fella tol’ us to go to the Salvation Army.” Her eyes grew fierce. “We was hungrythey made us crawl for our dinner. They took our dignity. They—I hate ’em! An’—maybe Mis’ Joyce took charity. Maybe she didn’ know this ain’t charity. Mis’ Joad, we don’t allow nobody in this camp to build theirself up that-a-way. We don’t allow nobody to give nothing to another person. They can give it to the camp, an’ the camp can pass it out. We won’t have no charity!” Her voice was fierce and hoarse. “I hate ’em,” she said. “I ain’t never seen my man beat before, but themthem Salvation Army done it to ’im.”
Jessie nodded. “I heard,” she said softly. “I heard. We got to take Mis’ Joad aroun.”
Ma said, “It sure is nice.”
“Le’s go to the sewin’ room,” Annie suggested. “Got two machines. They’s a-quiltin’, an’ they’re making dresses. You might like ta work over there.”
When the committee called on Ma, Ruthie and Winfield faded imperceptibly back out of reach.
“Whyn’t we go along an’ listen?” Winfield asked.
Ruthie gripped his arm. “No,” she said. “We got washed for them sons-a-bitches. I ain’t goin’ with ’em.”
Winfield said, “You tol’ on me ’bout the toilet. I’m a-gonna tell what you called them ladies.”