“Here’s four more,” the guide said to a clerk.
“O.K. Ever picked before?”
“Never did,” said Tom.
“Well, pick careful. No bruised fruit, no windfalls. Bruise your fruit an’ we won’t check ’em. There’s some buckets.”
Tom picked up a three-gallon bucket and looked at it. “Full a holes on the bottom.”
“Sure,” said the near-sighted clerk. “That keeps people from stealing them. All right—down in that section. Get going.”
The four Joads took their buckets and went into the orchard. “They don’t waste no time,” Tom said.
“Christ Awmighty,” Al said. “I ruther work in a garage.”
Pa had followed docilely into the field. He turned suddenly on Al. “Now you jus’ quit it,” he said. “You been a-hankerin’ an’ a-complainin’ an’ a-bullblowin’. You get to work. You ain’t so big I can’t lick you yet.”
Al’s face turned red with anger. He started to bluster.
Tom moved near to him. “Come on, Al,” he said quietly. “Bread an’ meat. We got to get ’em.”
They reached for the fruit and dropped them in the buckets. Tom ran at his work. One bucket full, two buckets. He dumped them in a box. Three buckets. The box was full. “I jus’ made a nickel,” he called. He picked up the box and walked hurriedly to the station. “Here’s a nickel’s worth,” he said to the checker.
The man looked into the box, turned over a peach or two. “Put it over there. That’s out,” he said. “I told you not to bruise them. Dumped ’em outa the bucket, didn’t you? Well, every damn peach is bruised. Can’t check that one. Put ’em in easy or you’re working for nothing.”
“Why—goddamn it——”
“Now go easy. I warned you before you started.”
Tom’s eyes drooped sullenly. “O.K.” he said. “O.K.” He went quickly back to the others. “Might’s well dump what you got,” he said. “Yours is the same as mine. Won’t take ’em.”
“Now, what the hell!” Al began.
“Got to pick easier. Can’t drop ’em in the bucket. Got to lay ’em in.”
They started again, and this time they handled the fruit gently. The boxes filled more slowly. “We could figger somepin out, I bet,” Tom said. “If Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ or Rosasharn jus’ put ’em in the boxes, we could work out a system.” He carried his newest box to the station. “Is this here worth a nickel?”
The checker looked them over, dug down several layers. “That’s better,” he said. He checked the box in. “Just take it easy.”
Tom hurried back. “I got a nickel,” he called. “I got a nickel. On’y got to do that there twenty times for a dollar.”
They worked on steadily through the afternoon. Ruthie and Winfield found them after a while. “You got to work,” Pa told them. “You got to put the peaches careful in the box. Here, now, one at a time.”
The children squatted down and picked the peaches out of the extra bucket, and a line of buckets stood ready for them. Tom carried the full boxes to the station. “That’s seven,” he said. “That’s eight. Forty cents we got. Get a nice piece of meat for forty cents.”
The afternoon passed. Ruthie tried to go away. “I’m tar’d,” she whined. “I got to rest.”
“You got to stay right where you’re at,” said Pa.
Uncle John picked slowly. He filled one bucket to two of Tom’s. His pace didn’t change.
In mid-afternoon Ma came trudging out. “I would a come before, but Rosasharn fainted,” she said. “Jes’ fainted away.”
“You been eatin’ peaches,” she said to the children. “Well, they’ll blast you out.” Ma’s stubby body moved quickly. She abandoned her bucket quickly and picked into her apron. When the sun went down they had picked twenty boxes.
Tom set the twentieth box down. “A buck,” he said. “How long do we work?”
“Work till dark, long as you can see.”
“Well, can we get credit now? Ma oughta go in an’ buy some stuff to eat.”
“Sure. I’ll give you a slip for a dollar now.” He wrote on a strip of paper and handed it to Tom.
He took it to Ma. “Here you are. You can get a dollar’s worth of stuff at the store.”
Ma put down her bucket and straightened her shoulders. “Gets you, the first time, don’t it?”
“Sure. We’ll all get used to it right off. Roll on in an’ get some food.”