“No, not far. Can I get change on this here work slip?”
“Well—I ain’t supposed to.”
“Look, mister,” Al said. “We got a good job offered if we get there tonight. If we don’t, we miss out. Be a good fella.”
“Well, O.K. You sign her over to me.” Al got out and walked around the nose of the Hudson. “Sure I will,” he said. He unscrewed the water cap and filled the radiator. “Two, you say?”
“Yeah, two.”
“Which way you goin’?”
“South. We got a job.”
“Yeah? Jobs is scarce—reg’lar jobs.”
“We got a frien’,” Al said. “Job’s all waitin’ for us. Well, so long.” The truck swung around and bumped over the dirt street into the road. The feeble headlight jiggled over the way, and the right headlight blinked on and off from a bad connection. At every jolt the loose pots and pans in the truck-bed jangled and crashed.
Rose of Sharon moaned softly. “Feel bad?” Uncle John asked. “Yeah! Feel bad all a time. Wisht I could set still in a nice place.