“Know where there’s other people looking for work?”
“Sure,” said Tom. “Down at the Weedpatch camp they’s plenty lookin’ for work.”
“I’ll take a run down there. We can use quite a few. Remember now, turn east at Pixley and keep straight east to the Hooper ranch.”
“Sure,” said Tom. “An’ we thank ya, mister. We need work awful bad.”
“All right. Get along as soon as you can.” He walked back across the road, climbed into his open roadster, and drove away south.
Tom threw his weight on the pump. “Twenty apiece,” he called. “One—two—three—four—” At twenty Al took the pump, and then Pa and then Uncle John. The tire filled out and grew plump and smooth. Three times around, the pump went. “Let ’er down an’ le’s see,” said Tom.
Al released the jack and lowered the car. “Got plenty,” he said. “Maybe a little too much.” They threw the tools into the car. “Come on, le’s go,” Tom called.
“We’re gonna get some work at last.”
Ma got in the middle again. Al drove this time.
“Now take her easy. Don’t burn her up, Al.”