“When it’s time to go—we’ll go. We’ll do what we got to do. Now hush. You might wake her.”
Mrs. Wainwright broke twigs and poked them in the sodden, smoking fire.
From outside came the sound of an angry voice. “I’m goin’ in an’ see the son-of-a-bitch myself.”
And then, just outside the door, Al’s voice, “Where you think you’re goin’?”
“Goin’ in to see that bastard Joad.”
“No, you ain’t. What’s the matter’th you?”
“If he didn’t have that fool idear about the bank, we’d a got out. Now our car is dead.”
“You think ours is burnin’ up the road?”
“I’m a-goin’ in.”
Al’s voice was cold. “You’re gonna fight your way in.”