“Well,” said Pa, “we sol’ all the stuff at our place, an’ the whole bunch of us chopped cotton, even Grampa.”
“Sure did,” said Grampa.
“We put ever’thing together—two hunderd dollars. We give seventy-five for this here truck, an’ me an’ Al cut her in two an’ built on this here back. Al was gonna grind the valves, but he’s too busy messin’ aroun’ to get down to her. We’ll have maybe a hunderd an’ fifty when we start. Damn ol’ tires on this truck ain’t gonna go far. Got a couple of wore out spares. Pick stuff up along the road, I guess.”
The sun, driving straight down, stung with its rays. The shadows of the truck bed were dark bars on the ground, and the truck smelled of hot oil and oilcloth and paint. The few chickens had left the yard to hide in the tool shed from the sun. In the sty the pigs lay panting, close to the fence where a thin shadow fell, and they complained shrilly now and then. The two dogs were stretched in the red dust under the truck, panting, their dripping tongues covered with dust. Pa pulled his hat low over his eyes and squatted down on his hams. And, as though this were his natural position of thought and observation, he surveyed Tom critically, the new but aging cap, the suit, and the new shoes.
“Did you spen’ your money for them clothes?” he asked. “Them clothes are jus’ gonna be a nuisance to ya.”
“They give ’em to me,” said Tom. “When I come out they give ’em to me.” He took off his cap and looked at it with some admiration, then wiped his forehead with it and put it on rakishly and pulled at the visor.
Pa observed, “Them’s a nice-lookin’ pair a shoes they give ya.”
“Yeah,” Joad agreed. “Purty for nice, but they ain’t no shoes to go walkin’ aroun’ in on a hot day.” He squatted beside his father.
Noah said slowly, “Maybe if you got them side-boards all true on, we could load up this stuff. Load her up so maybe if Al comes in—”
“I can drive her, if that’s what you want,” Tom said. “I drove truck at McAlester.”