BOOKS BY JOHN STETNBKCK
THE PASTURES OF HEAVEN IN DUBIOUS BATTUE THE LONG VALLLY TO A (. OD UNKNOWN
OF MICE AND MEN
John Steinbeck
OF MICE
AND MEN
THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK
Published by the world publishing company
2231 WEST IIOTII STREET • CLEVELAND 2 • OHIO
By arrangement with The Viking Press
TOWER HOOKS EDITION First Printing Mar eh 194/
io?r9r
IIC
COPYRIGHT 1937 BY JOHN STEINBECK
All rights reserved . No fart of this book may be ref re-
duced in any form without fer mission in writing from
the publisher y except by a reviewer who may quote brief
passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or
newspaper,
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
OF MICE AND MEN
I
A FEW MILES south of Soledad, the Salinas
River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs
deep and green. The water is warm too, for it
has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in
the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool.
On one side of the river the golden foothill
dopes curve up to the strong and rocky Gabilan
mountains, but on the valley side the water is
lined with trees— willows fresh and green with
every spring, carrying in their lower leaf junc-
tures the debris of the winter’s flooding; and
sycamores with mottled, white, recumbent limbs
and branches that arch over the pool. On the
sandy bank under the trees the leaves lie deep
and so crisp that a lizard makes a great skitter-
ing if he runs among them. Rabbits come out of
7
OF MICE AND MEN
the brush to sit on the sand in the evening, and
the damp flats are covered with the night tracks
of ’coons, and with the spread pads of dogs from
the ranches, and with the split-wedge tracks of
deer that come to drink in the dark.
There is a path through the willows and
among the sycamores, a path beaten hard by
boys coming down from the ranches to swim in
the deep pool, and beaten hard by tramps who
come wearily down from the highway in the
evening to jungle-up near water. In fropt of the
low horizontal limb of a giant sycamore there
is an ash pile made by many fires; the limb is
worn smooth by men who have sat on it.
Evening of a hot day started the little wind to
moving among the leaves. The shade climbed up
the hills toward the top. On the sand banks the
rabbits sat as quietly as little gray, sculptured
stones. And then from the direction of the state
highway came the sound of footsteps on crisp
sycamore leaves. The rabbits hurried noiselessly
8
OF MICE AND MEN
for cover. A stilted ’ heron labored up into the
air and pounded down river. For a moment the
place was lifeless, and then two men emerged
from the path and came into the opening by the
green, pool.
They had walked in single file down the
path, and even in the open one stayed behind
the other. Both were dressed in denim trousers
and in. denim coats with brass buttons. Both
wore black, shapeless hats and both carried
tight blanket rolls slung over their shoulders. The
first man was small and quick, dark of face,
with restless eyes and sharp, strong features.
Every part of him was defined: small, strong
hands, slender arms, a thin and bony nose. Be-
hind him walked his opposite, a huge man, shape-
less of face, with large, pale eyes, with wide, slop-
ing shoulders; and he walked heavily, dragging
his feet a little, the way a bear drags his paws.
His arms did not swing at his sides, but hung
loosely.
The first man stopped short in the clearing,
9
OF MICE AND MEN
and the follower nearly ran over him. He took
off his hat and wiped the sweat-band with his
forefinger and snapped the moisture off. His
huge companion dropped his blankets and flung
himself down and drank from the surface of the
green pool; drank with long gulps, snorting into
the water like a horse. The small man stepped
nervously beside him.
“Lennie!” he said sharply. “Lennic, for God’
sakes don’t drink so much.” Lennie continued
to snort into the pool. The small man leaned
over and shook him by the shoulder. “Lennie.
You gonna be sick like you was last night.”
Lennic dipped his whole head under, hat and
all, and then he sat up on the bank and his hat
dripped down on his blue coat and ran down his
back. “Tha’s good,” he said. “You drink some,
George. You take a good big drink.” He smiled
happily.
George unslung his bindle and dropped it
gently on the bank. “I ain’t sure it’s good water,”
he said. “Looks kinda scummy.”
io
OF MICE AND MEN
Lennie dabbled his big paw in the water and
wiggled his fingers so the water arose in little
splashes; rings widened across the pool to the
other side and came back again. Lennie watched
them go. “Look, George. Look what I done.”
George knelt beside the pool and drank from
his hand with quick scoops. “Tastes all right,”
he admitted. “Don’t really seem to be running,
though. You never oughta drink water when
it ain’t running, Lennie,” he said hopelessly.
“You’d drink out of a gutter if you was thirsty.”
He threw a scoop of water into his face and
rubbed it about with his hand, under his chin
and around the back of his neck. Then he re-
placed his hat, pushed himself back from the
river, drew up his knees and embraced them.
Lennie, who had been watching, imitated
George exactly. He pushed himself back, drew
up his knees, embraced them, looked over to
George to see whether he had it just right. He
pulled his hat down a little more over his eyes,
the way George’s hat was.
it
OF MICE AND MEN
George scared morosely at the water. The rims
of his eyes were red with sun glare. He said
angrily, “We could just as well of rode clear to
the ranch if that bastard bus driver knew what
he was talkin’ about. ‘Jes’ a little stretch down
the highway,’ he says. ‘Jes’ a little stretch.’ God
damn near four miles, that’s what it was! Didn’t
wanta stop at the ranch gate, that’s what. Too
God damn lazy to pull up. Wonder he isn’t too
damn good to stop in Soledad at all. Kicks us out
and says, ‘Jes’ a little stretch down the road.’
I bet it was more than four miles. Damn hot
day.”
Lennie looked timidly over to him. “George?”
“Yeah, what ya want?”
“Where we goin’, George?”
The little man jerked down the brim of his
hat and scowled over at Lennie. “So you forgot
that awready, did you? I gotta tell you again, do
I? Jesus Christ, you’re a crazy bastard!”
“I forgot,” Lennie said softly. “1 tried not to forget. Honest to God I did, George.”
OF MICE AND MEN
“O.K.— O.K. I’ll tell ya again. I ain’t got noth-
ing to do. Might jus’ as well spen’ all my time
tellin’ you things and then you forget ’em, and
I tell you again.”
“Tried and tried,” said Lennie, “but it didn’t
do no good. I remember about the rabbits,
George.”
“’Hie hell with the rabbits. That’s all you ever
can remember is them rabbits. O.K! Now you
listen and this time you got to remember so we
don’t get in no trouble. You remember settin’
in that gutter on Howard street and watchin’
that blackboard?”
Lennie’s face broke into a delighted smile.
“Why sure, George. I remember that .... but
. . . . what’d we do then? I remember some girls
come by and you says .... you say . . . .”
“The hell with what I says. You remember
about us goin’ into Murray and Ready’s, and
they give us work cards and bus tickets?”
“Oh, sure, George. I remember that now.” His hands went quickly into his side coat pock-
*3
OF MICE AND MEN
ets..He said gently, “George .... I ain’t got
mine. I musta lost it.” He looked down at the
ground in despair.
“You never had none, you crazy bastard. I
got both of ’em here. Think I’d let you carry
your own work card?”
Lennie grinned with relief. “I .... I thought
I put it in my side pocket.” His hand went into
the pocket again.
George looked sharply at hint. “What’d you take outa that pocket?”
“Ain’t a thing in my pocket,” Lennie said cleverly.
“I know there ain’t. You got it in your hand. What you got in your hand— hidin’ it?”
“I ain’t got nothin’, George. Honest.”
“Come on, give it here.”
Lennie held his closed hand away from George’s direction. “It’s on’y a mouse, George.”
“A mouse? A live mouse?”
“Uh-uh. Jus’ a dead mouse, George. I didn’ kill it. Honest! I found it. I found it dead.”
OF MICE AND MEN
“Give it here!” said George.
“Aw, leave me have it, George.”
“ Give it here/”
Lennie’s closed hand slowly obeyed. George
took the mouse and threw it across the pool to
the other side, among the brush. “What you
want of a dead mouse, anyways?”
“I could pet it with my thumb while we walked along,” said Lennie.
“Well, you ain’t petting no mice while you
walk with me. You remember where we’re goin’
now?”
Lennie looked startled and then in embarrass-
ment hid his face against his knees. “1 forgot
again.
“Jesus Christ,” George said resignedly. “Well
—look, we’re gonna work on a ranch like the one
we come from up north.”
“Up north?”
“In Weed.”
“Oh, sure. I remember. In Weed.”
“That ranch we’re goin’ to is right down
15
OF MICE AND MEN
there about a quarter mile. We’re gonna go in
an’ see the boss. Now, look— I’ll give him the
work tickets, but you ain’t gonna say a word.
You jus’ stand there and don’t say nothing. If
he finds out what a crazy bastard you arc, we
won’t get no job, but if he sees ya work before
he hears ya talk, we’re set. Ya got that?”
“Sure, George. Sure 1 got it.”
“O.K. Now when we go in to see the boss, what you gonna do?”
“I . . . . I,” Lennie thought. His face grew
tight with thought. “I . . . . ain’t gonna say
nothin’. Jus’ gonna stan' there.”
“Good boy. That’s swell. You say that over two, three times so you sure won’t forget it.”
Lennie droned to himself softly, “I ain’t gonna
say nothin’ .... I ain’t gonna say nothin’ . . . ,
I ain’t gonna say nothin’.”
“O.K.,” said George. “An’ you ain’t gonna do no bad things like you done in Weed, neither.”
Lennie looked puzzled. “Like I done in Weed?”
16
OF MICE AND MEN
“Oh, so ya forgot that too, did ya? Well, I ain’t gonna remind ya, fear ya do it again.”
A light of understanding broke on Lennie’s
face. “They run us outa Weed,” he exploded
triumphantly.
“Run us out, hell,” said George disgustedly.
“We run. They was lookin’ for us, but they
didn’t catch us.”
Lennie giggled happily. “I didn’t forget that, you bet.”
George lay back on the sand and crossed his
hands under his head, and Lennie imitated him,
raising his head to see whether he were doing it
right. “God, you’re a lot of trouble,” said
George. “I could get along so easy and so nice
if I didn’t have you on my tail. I could live so
easy and maybe have a girl.”
For a moment Lennie lay quiet, and then he
said hopefully, “We gonna work on a ranch,
George.”
“A wright. You got that. But we’re gonna sleep here because I got a reason.”
»7
OF MICE AND MEN
The day was going fast now. Only the tops
of the Gabilan mountains flamed with the light
of the sun that had gone from the valley. A
water snake slipped along on the pool, its head
held up like a little periscope. The reeds jerked
slightly in the current. Far off toward the high-
way a man shouted something, and another man
shouted back. The sycamore limbs rustled under
a little wind that died immediately.
“George— why ain’t we goin’ on to the ranch
and get some supper? They got supper at the
ranch.”
George rolled on his side. “No reason at all
for you. I like it here. Tomorra we’re gonna go
to work. I seen thrashin’ machines on the way
down. That means we’ll be bucking grain bags,
bustin’ a gut. Tonight I’m gonna lay right here
and look up. I like it.”
Lennie got up on his knees and looked down at George. “Ain’t we gonna have no supper?”
“Sure we arc, if you gather up some dead wil-
low sticks. I got three cans of beans in my
18
OF MICE AND MEN
bindle. You get a fire ready. I’ll give you a
match when you get the sticks together. Then
we’ll heat the beans and have supper.”
Lennie said, “I like beans with ketchup.”
“Well, we ain’t got no ketchup. You go get
wood. An’ don’t you fool around. It’ll be dark
before long.”
Lennie lumbered to his feet and disappeared
in the brush. George lay where he was and
whistled softly to himself. There were sounds of
splashings down the river in the direction Len-
nie had taken. George stopped whistling and
listened. “Poor bastard,” he said softly, and then
went on whistling again.
In a moment Lennie came crashing back
through the brush. He carried one small wiilow
stick in his hand. George sat up. “Awright,”
he said brusquely. “Gi’me that mouse!”
But Lennie made an elaborate pantomime of
innocence. “What mouse, George? I ain’t got
no mouse.”
George held out his hand. “Come on. Give it to me. You ain’t puttin’ nothing over.”
19
OF MICE AND MEN
Lennie hesitated, backed away, looked wildly
at the brush line as though he contemplated run-
ning for his freedom. George said coldly, “You
gonna give me that mouse or do I have to sock
you?”
“Give you what, George?”
“You know God damn well what. I want that mouse.”
Lennie reluctantly reached into his pocket.
His voice broke a little. “I don’t know why I
can’t keep it. It ain’t nobody’s mouse. I didn’t
steal it. I found it lyin’ right beside the road.”
George’s hand remained outstretched imperi-
ously. Slowly, like a terrier who doesn’t want
to bring a ball to its master, Lennie approached,
drew back, approached again. George snapped
his fingers sharply, and at the sound Lennie laid
the mouse in his hand.
“I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad with it, George. Jus’ strokin’ it.”
George stood up and threw the mouse as far as he could into the darkening brush, and then
20
OF MICE AND MEN
he stepped to the pool and washed his hands.
“You crazy fool. Don’t you think I could see
your feet was wet where you went acrost the
river to get it?” lie heard Lennie’s whimpering
cry and wheeled about. “Blubberin’ like a baby!
Jesus Christ! A big guy like you.” Lennie’s lip
quivered and tears started in his eyes. “Aw, Lcn-
nie!” George put his hand on Lennie’s shoulder.
“I ain’t talcin’ it away jus’ for meanness. That
mouse ain’t fresh, Lennie; and besides, you’ve
broke it pettin’ it. You get another mouse that’s
fresh and I’ll let you keep it a little while.”
Lennie sat down on the ground and hung his
head dejectedly. “I don’t know where there is
no other mouse. I remember a lady used to give
’em to me— ever’ one she got. But that lady ain’t
here.”
George scoffed. “Lady, huh? Don’t even re-
member who that lady was. That was your own
Aunt Clara. An’ she stopped givin’ ’em to ya.
You always killed ’em.”
Lennie looked sadly up at him. “They was so
21
OF MICE AND MEN
little,” he said, apologetically. “I’d pet ’em, and
pretty soon they bit my fingers and I pinched
their heads a little and then they was dead—
because they was so little.”
“I wish’t we’d get the rabbits pretty soon, George. They ain’t so little.”
“The hell with the rabbits. An’ you ain’t to
be trusted with no live mice. Your Aunt Clara
give you a rubber mouse and you wouldn’t have
nothing to do with it.”
“It wasn’t no good to pet,” said Lennie.
The flame of the sunset lifted from the moun-
taintops and dusk came into the valley, and a
half darkness came in among the willows and
the sycamores. A big carp rose to the surface of
the pool, gulped air and then sank mysteriously
into the dark water again, leaving widening
rings on the water. Overhead the leaves whisked
again and little puffs of willow cotton blew
down and landed on the pool’s surface.
“You gonna get that wood?” George de- manded. “There’s plenty right up against the
22
OF MICE AND MEN
back of that sycamore. Floodwater wood. Now you get it.”
Lennie went behind the tree and brought out
a litter of dried leaves and twigs. He threw
them in a heap on the old ash pile and went back
for more and more. It was almost night now. A
dove’s wings whistled over the water. George
walked to the fire pile and lighted the dry leaves.
The flame cracked up among the twigs and fell
to work. George undid his bindle and brought
out three cans of beans. He stood them about
the fire, close in against the blaze, but not quite
tduching the flame.
“There’s enough beans for four men,” George said.
Lennie watched him from over the fire. He said patiently, “I like ’em with ketchup.”
“Well, we ain’t got any,” George exploded.
“Whatever we ain’t got, that’s what you want.
God a’mighty, if I was alone I could live so
easy. I could go get a job an’ work, an’ no
trouble. No mess at all, and when the end of the
23
OF MICE AND MEN
month come I could take my fifty bucks and go
into town and get whatever I want. Why, I
could stay in a cat house all night. I could eat
any place I want, hotel or any place, and order
any damn thing I could think of. An’ I could do
all that every damn in c*e.’' Get a gallon of
whisky, or set in a poo'^bbits. An play cards or
shoot pool.” Lennie ve mice. Y joked over the
fire at the angry Gee ,use an.d,'!Lennie’s face was
drawn with terror. “A’u whatta I got,” George
went on furiously. “I got you! You can’t keep
a job and you lose me ever’ job I get. Jus’ keep
me shovin’ all over the country all the time. An’
that ain’t the worst. You get in trouble. You do
bad things and I got to get you out.” His voice
rose nearly to a shout. “You crazy son-of-a-
bitch. You keep me in hot water all the time.”
He took on the elaborate manner of little girls
when they are mimicking one another. “Jus’
wanted to feel that girl’s dress— jus’ wanted to
pet it like it was a mouse — Well, how the hell
did she know you jus’ wanted to feel her dress?
OF MICE AND MEN
She jerks back and you hold on like it was a
mouse. She yells and we got to hide in a irri-
gation ditch all day with guys lookin’ for us,
and we got to sneak out in the dark and get
outta the country. All the time somethin’ like
that— all the time. I ~'dsht I could put you in a
cage with about a c j e( j Q *n mice an’ let you have
fun.” His anger Lj an( j j suddenly. lie looked
across the fire at. n anguished face, and
then he looked ashamc' • at the flames.
It was quite dark now, but the fire lighted
the trunks of the trees and the curving branches
overhead. Lennie crawled slowly and cautiously
around the fire until he was close to George. He
sat back on his heels. George turned the bean
cans so that another side faced the fire. He pre-
tended to be unaware of Lennie so close beside
him.
“George,” very softly. No answer. “George!”
“Whatta you want?”
“I was only foolin’, George. I don’t want no
ketchup. I wouldn’t eat no ketchup if it was
right here beside me.”
2 5
OF MICE AND MEN
“If it was here, you could have some.”
“But I wouldn’t eat none, George. I’d leave it
all for you. You could cover your beans with it
and I wouldn’t touch none of it.”
George still stared morosely at the fire.
“When I think of the swell time I could have
without you, I go nuts. I never get no peace.”
Lennie still knelt. He looked off into the dark-
ness across the river. “George, you want I
should go away and leave you alone?”
“Where the hell could you go?”
“Well, I could. I could go off in the hills there. Some place I’d find a cave.”
“Yeah? How’d you eat. You ain’t got sense enough to find nothing to eat.”
“I’d find things, George. I don’t need no nice
food with ketchup. I’d lay out in the sun and
nobody’d hurt me. An’ if I foun’ a mouse, I
could keep it. Nobody’d take it away from me.”
George looked quickly and searchingly at him. “I been mean, ain’t I?”
“If you don’ want me I can go off in the hills 26
OF MICE AND MEN
an’ find a cave. I can go away any time.”
“No— look! I was jus’ foolin’, Lennie. ’Cause
I want you to stay with me. Trouble with mice
is you always kill ’em. ” He paused. “Tell you
what I’ll do, Lennie. First chance I get I’ll give
you a pup. Maybe you wouldn’t kill it. That’d
be better than mice. And you could pet it
harder.”
Lennie avoided the bait. He had sensed his
advantage. “If you don’t want me, you only jus’
got to say so, and I’ll go off in those hills right
there— right up in those hills and live by myself.
An’ I won’t get no mice stole from me.”
George said, “I want you to stay with me,
Lennie. Jesus Christ, somebody’d shoot you for
a coyote if you was by yourself. No, you stay
with me. Your Aunt Clara wouldn’t like you
running off by yourself, even if she is dead.”
Lennie spoke craftily, “Tell me— like you done before.”
“Tell you what?”
“About the rabbits.”
27
OF MICE AND MEN
George snapped, “You ain’t gonna put noth- ing over on me.”
Lennie pleaded, “Come on, George. Tell me. Please, George. Like you done before.”
“You get a kick outta that, don’t you?
Awright, I’ll tell you, and then -we’ll eat our
supper. . .
George’s voice became deeper. He repeated
his words rhythmically as though he had said
them many times before. “Guys like us, that
work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the
world. They got no family. They don’t belong
no place. They come to a ranch an’ work up a
stake and then they go inta town and blow their
stake, and the first thing you know they’re
poundin’ their tail on some other ranch. They
ain’t got nothing to look ahead to.”
Lennie was delighted. ‘That’s it— that’s it. Now tell how it is with us.”
George went on. “With us it ain’t like that.
We got a future. We got somebody to talk to
28
OF MICE AND MEN
that gives a damn about us. We don’t have to sit
in no bar room biowin’ in our jack jus’ because
we got no place else to go. If them other guys
gets in jail they can rot for all anybody gives a
damn. But not us.”
Lennie broke in. “ But not us! Art 'why ? Be-
cause .... because l got you to look after me,
and you got me to look after you, and that’s
r why. n He laughed delightedly. “Go on now,
George!”
“You got it by heart. You can do it yourself.”
“No, you. I forget some a’ the things. Tell about how it’s gonna be.”
“O.K. Someday— we’re gonna get the jack to-
gether and we’re gonna have a little house and
a couple of acres an’ a cow and some pigs
and — ”
“Art live off the fatta the lart Lennie
shouted. “An’ have rabbits. Go on, George! Tell
about what we’re gonna have in the garden and
about the rabbits in the cages and about the rain
in the winter and the stove, and how thick the
29
OF MICE AND MEN
cream is on the milk like you can hardly cut it. Tell about that, George.”
“Why ’n’t you do it yourself? You know all of it.” -
“No . cn Vyou tell it. It ain’t the same if I tell
it. Go on ... . George. How I get to tend the
rabbits.”
“Well,” said George, “we’ll have a big vege-
table patch and a rabbit hutch and chickens.
And when it rains in the winter, we’ll just say
the hell with goin’ to work, and we’ll build up a
fire in the stove and set around it an’ listen to the
rain cornin’ down on the roof— Nuts!” He took
out his pocket knife. “I ain’t got time for no
more.” He drove his knife through the top of
one of the bean cans, sawed out the top and
passed the can to Lennie. Then he opened a
second can. From his side pocket he brought out
two spoons and passed one of them to Lennie.
They sat by the fire and filled their mouths
with beans and chewed mightily. A few beans
slipped out of the side of Lennie’s mouth.
30
OF MICE AND MEN
George gestured with his spoon. “What you
gonna say tomorrow when the boss asks you
questions?”
Lennie stopped chewing and sallowed. His
face was concentrated. “I .... i ?’t gonna
. . . . say a word.”
“Good boy! That’s fine, Lennie! Maybe
you’re gettin’ better. When we get the coupla
acres I can let you tend the rabbits all right.
’Specially if you remember as good as that.”
Lennie choked with pride. “I can remember,” he said.
George motioned with his spoon again.
“Look, Lennie. 1 want you to look around here.
You can remember this place, can’t you? The
ranch is about a quarter mile up that way. Just
follow the river?”
“Sure,” said Lennie. “I can remember this.
Di’n’t I remember about not gonna say a
word?”
“ ’Course you did. Well, look. Lennie— if you jus’ happen to get in trouble like you always
3 1
OF MICE AND MEN
done before, I want you to come right here an’ hide in the brush.”
“Hide in the brush,” said Lennie slowly.
“Hide in -*hc brush till I come for you. Can you rem^Voer that?”
“Sure I can, George. Hide in the brush till you come.”
“But you ain’t gonna get in no trouble, be-
cause if you do, I won’t let you tend the rab-
bits.” He threw his empty bean can off into
the brush.
“1 won’t get in no trouble, George. I ain’t gonna say a word.”
“O.K. Bring your bindle over here by the
fire. It’s gonna be nice slcepin’ here. Lookin’ up,
and the leaves. Don’t build up no more fire.
We’ll let her die down.”
They made their beds on the sand, and as the
blaze dropped from the fire the sphere of light
grew smaller; the curling branches disappeared
and only a faint glimmer showed where the tree
trunks were. From the darkness Lennie called,
“George— you asleep?”
3 2
OF MICE AND MEN
“No. Whatta you want?”
“Let’s have different color rabbits, George.’*
“Sure we will,” George said sleepily. “Red
and blue and green rabbits, Lennie. Millions of
’em.”
“Furry ones, George, like I seen in the fair in Sacramento.”
“Sure, furry ones.”
“ ’Cause I can jus’ as well go away, George, an’ live in a cave.”
“You can jus’ as well go to hell,” said George. “Shut up now.”
The red light dimmed on the coals. Up the
hill from the river a coyote yammered, and a
dog answered from the other side of the stream.
The sycamore leaves whispered in a little night
breeze.
33
2
THE hunk House was a long, rectangular build-
ing. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the
floor unpainted. In three walls there were small,
square windows, and in the fourth, a solid door
with a wooden latch. Against the walls were
eight bunks, five of them made up with blankets
and the other three showing their burlap ticking.
Over each bunk there was nailed an apple box
with the opening forward so that it made two
shelves for the personal belongings of the oc-
cupant of the bunk. And these shelves were
loaded with little articles, soap and talcum pow-
der, razors and those Western magazines ranch
men love to read and scoff at and secretly be-
lieve. And there were medicines on the shelves,
and little vials, combs; and from nails on the
34
OF MICE AND MEN
box sides, a few neckties. Near one wall there
was a black cast-iron stove, its stovepipe going
straight up through the ceiling. In the middle of
the room stood a big square table littered with
playing cards, and around it were grouped boxes
for the players to sit on.
At about ten o’clock in the morning the sun
threw a bright dust-laden bar through one of the
side windows, and in and out of the beam flies
shot like rushing stars.
The wooden latch raised. The door opened
and a tall, stoop-shouldered old man came in.
He was dressed in blue jeans and he carried a
big push-broom in his left hand. Behind him
came George, and behind George, Lennie.
“The boss was expectin’ you last night,” the
old man said. “He was sore as hell when you
wasn’t here to go out this morning.” He pointed
with his right arm, and out of the sleeve came a
round stick-like wrist, but no hand. “You can
have them two beds there,” he said, indicating
two b units near the stove.
35
OF MICE AND MEN
George stepped over and threw his blankets
down on the burlap sack of straw that was a
mattress. He looked into his box shelf and then
picked a small yellow can from it. “Say. What
the hell’s this?”
“I don’t know,” said the old man.
“Says ‘positively kills lice, roaches and other
scourges.’ What the hell kind of bed you giving
us, anyways. We don’t want no pants rabbits.”
The old swamper shifted his broom and held
it between his elbow and his side while he held
out his hand for the can. He studied the label
carefully. “Tell you what—” he said finally,
“last guy that had this bed was a blacksmith-
hell of a nice fella and as clean a guy as you
want to meet. Used to wash his hands even
after he ate.”
“Then how come he got graybacks?” George
was working up a slow anger. Lennie put his
bindle on the neighboring bunk and sat down.
He watched George with open mouth.
“Tell you what,” said the old swamper. “This 36
OF MICE AND MEN
here blacksmith— name of Whitey— was the kind
of guy that would put that stuff around even if
there wasn’t no bugs— just to make sure, see?
Tell you what he used to do— At meals he’d
peel his boil’ potatoes, an’ he’d take out ever’ lit-
tle spot, no matter what kind, before he’d eat it.
And if there was a red splotch on an egg, he’d
scrape it off. Finally quit about the food. That’s
the kinda guy he was— clean. Used ta dress up
Sundays even when he wasn’t going no place,
put on a necktie even, and then set in the bunk-
house.”
“I ain’t so sure,” said George skeptically. “What did you say he quit for?”
The old man put the yellow can in his pocket,
and he rubbed his bristly white whiskers with
his knuckles. “Why .... he ... . just quit, the
way a guy will. Says it was the food. Just
wanted to move. Didn’t give no other reason
but the food. Just says ‘gimme my time’ one
night, the way any guy would.”
George lifted his tick and looked underneath
37
OF MICE AND MEN
it. He leaned over and inspected the sacking
closely. Immediately Lennic got up and did the
same with his bed. Finally George seemed sat-
isfied. He unrolled his bindle and put things on
the shelf, his razor and bar of soap, his comb and
bottle of pills, his liniment and leather wrist-
band. Then he made his bed up neatly with
blankets. The old man said, “I guess the boss’ll
be out here in a minute. Irle was sure burned
when you wasn’t here this morning. Come right
in when we was eatin’ breakfast and says,
‘Where the hell’s them new men?’ An’ he give
the stable buck hell, too.”
George patted a wrinkle out of his bed, and sat down. “Give the stable buck hell?” he asked.
“Sure. Ya see the stable buck’s a nigger.”
“Nigger, huh?”
“Yeah. Nice fella too. Got a crooked back
where a horse kicked him. The boss gives him
hell when he’s mad. But the stable buck don’t
give a damn about that. He reads a lot. Got
books in his room.”
38
OF MICE AND MEN
“What kind of a guy is the boss?” George asked.
“Well, he’s a pretty nice fella. Gets pretty
mad sometimes, but he’s pretty nice. Tell ya
what— know what he done Christmas? Brang a
gallon of whisky right in here and says, ‘Drink
hearty boys. Christmas comes but once a year.’ ”
“The hell he did! Whole gallon?”
“Yes sir. Jesus, wc had fun. They let the nig-
ger come in that night. Little skinner name of
Smitty took after the nigger. Done pretty good,
too. The guys wouldn’t let him use his feet, so
the nigger got him. If he coulda used his feet,
Smitty says he woulda killed the nigger. The
guys said on account of the nigger’s got a
crooked back, Smitty can’t use his feet.” He
paused in relish of the memory. “After that the
guys went into Soledad and raised hell. I didn’t
go in there. I ain’t got the poop no more.”
Lennie was just finishing making his bed. The
wooden latch raised again and the door opened.
A little stocky man stood in the open doorway.
39
OF MICE AND MEN
He wore blue jean trousers, a flannel shirt, a
black, unbuttoned vest and a black coat. His
thumbs were stuck in his belt, on each side of
a square steel buckle. On his head was a soiled
brown Stetson hat, and he wore high-heeled
boots and spurs to prove he was not a laboring
man.
The old swamper looked quickly at him, and
then shuffled to the door rubbing his whiskers
with his knuckles as he went. “Them guys just
come,” he said, and shuffled past the boss and out
the door.
The boss stepped into the room with the
short, quick steps of a fat-legged man. “I wrote
Murray and Ready I wanted two men this
morning. You got your work slips?” George
reached into his pocket and produced the slips
and handed them to the boss. “It wasn’t Murray
and Ready’s fault. Says right here on the slip
that you was to be here for work this morn-
ing.”
George looked down at his feet. “Bus driver 40
OF MICE AND MEN
give us a bum steer,” he said. “We hadda walk
ten miles. Says we was here when we wasn’t.
We couldn’t get no rides in the morning.”
The boss squinted his eyes. “Well, I had to
send out the grain teams short two buckers.
Won’t do any good to go out now till after din-
ner.” He pulled his time book out of his pocket
and opened it where a pencil was stuck between,
the leaves. George scowled meaningfully at Len-
nie, and Lennie nodded to show that he under-
stood. The boss licked his pencil. “What’s your
name?”
“George Milton.”
“And what’s yours?”
George said, “His name’s Lennie Small.”
The names were entered in the book. “Le’s
see, this is the twentieth, noon the twentieth.”
He closed the book. “Where you boys been
working?”
“Up around Weed,” said George.
“You, too?” to Lennie.
“Yeah, him too,” said George.
41
OF MICE AND MEN
The boss pointed a playful finger at Lennie. “He ain’t much of a talker, is he?”
“No, he ain’t, but he’s sure a hell of a good worker. Strong as a bull.”
Lennie smiled to himself. “Strong as a bull,” he repeated.
George scowled at him, and Lennie dropped his head in shame at having forgotten.
The boss said suddenly, “Listen, Small!” Len- nie raised his head. “What can you do?”
In a panic, Lennie looked at George for help.
“He can do anything you tell him,” said George.
“He’s a good skinner. He can rassel grain bags,
drive a cultivator. He can do anything. Just give
him a try.”
The boss turned on George. “Then why don’t
you let him answer? What you trying to put
over?”
George broke in loudly, “Oh! I ain’t saying
he’s bright. He ain’t. But I say he’s a God damn
good worker. He can put up a four hundred
pound bale.”
42
OF MICE AND MEN
The boss deliberately put the little book in his
pocket. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and
squinted one eye nearly closed. “Say— what you
scllin’?”
“Huh?”
“I said what stake you got in this guy? You takin’ his pay away from him?”
“No, ’course I ain’t. Why ya think I’m scllin’ him out?”
“Well, I never seen one guy take so much
trouble for another guy. I just like to know
what your interest is.”
George said, “He’s my .... cousin. I told his
old lady I’d take care of him. He got kicked in
the head by a horse when he was a kid. He’s
awright. Just ain’t bright. But he can do any-
thing you tell him.”
The boss turned half away. “Well, God
knows he don’t need any brains to buck barley
bags. But don’t you try to put nothing over,
Milton. I got my eye on you. Why’d you quit
in Weed?”
43
OF MICE AND MEN
“Job was done,” said George promptly.
“What kinda job?”
“We .... we was diggin’ a cesspool.”
“All right^ut don’t try to put nothing over,
’cause you can’t get away with nothing. I seen
wise guys before. Go on out with the grain
teams after dinner. They’re pickin’ up barley at
the threshing machine. Go out with Slim’s
team.”
“Slim?”
“Yeah. Big tall skinner. You’ll see him at din-
ner.” He turned abruptly and went to the door,
but before he went out he turned and looked
for a long moment at the two men.
When the sound of his footsteps had died
away, George turned on Lennic. “So you wasn’t
gonna say a word. You was gonna leave your
big flapper shut and leave me do the talkin’.
Damn near lost us the job.”
Lennie stared hopelessly at his hands. “I for- got, George.”
“Yeah, you forgot. You always forget, an’ I
44
OF MICE AND MEN
got to talk you out of it.” He sat down heavily
on the bunk. “Now he’s got his eye on us. Now
we got to be careful and not make no slips. You
keep your big flapper shut after ^js.” He fell
morosely silent.
“George.”
“What you want now?”
“I wasn’t kicked in the head with no horse, was I, George?”
“Be a damn good thing if you was,” George
said viciously. “Save ever’body a hell of a lot
of trouble.”
“You said I was your cousin, George.”
“Well, that was a lie. An’ I’m damn glad it
was. If I was a relative of yours I’d shoot my-
self.” He stopped suddenly, stepped to the open
front door and peered out. “Say, what the hell
you doin’ listenin’?”
The old man came slowly into the room. He
had his broom in his hand. And at his heels there
walked a dragfooted sheepdog, gray of muzzle,
and with pale, blind old eyes. The dog strug-
45
OF MICE AND MEN
gled lamely to the side of the room and lay
dcwn, grunting softly to himself and licking his
grizzled, moth-eaten coat. The swamper
watched him until he was settled. “I wasn’t lis-
tenin’. I was jus’ standin’ in the shade a minute
scratchin’ my dog. I jus’ now finished swampin’
out the wash house.”
“You was pokin’ your big ears into our busi-
ness,” George said. “I don’t like nobody to get
nosey.”
The old man looked uneasily from George to
Lennie, and then hack. “I jus’ come there,” he
said. “I didn’t hear nothing you guys was sayin’.
I ain’t interested in nothing you was sayin’. A
guy on a ranch don’t never listen nor he don’t
ast no questions.”
“Damn right he don’t,” said George, slightly
mollified, “not if he wants to stay workin’ long.”
But he was reassured by the swamper’s defense.
“Come on in and set down a minute,” he said.
“That’s a hell of an old dog.”
“Yeah. I had ’im ever since he was a pup. God, 46
OF MICE AND MEN
he was a good sheep dog when he was younger.”
He stood his broom against the wall and he
rubbed his white bristled cheek with his
knuckles. “I low’d you like the boss?” he asked.
“Pretty good. Seemed awright.”
“He’s a nice fella,” the swamper agreed. “You got to take him right.”
At that moment a young man came into the
bunk house; a thin young man with a brown
face, with brown eyes and a head of tightly
curled hair. He wore a work glove on his left
hand, and, like the boss, he wore high-heeled
boots. “Seen my old man?” he asked.
The swamper said, “He was here jus’ a minute
ago, Curley. Went over to the cook house, I
think.”
“I’ll try to catch him,” said Curley. His eyes
passed over the new men and he stopped. He
glanced coldly at George and then at Lennie.
His arms gradually bent at the elbows and his
hands closed into fists. He stiffened and went
into a slight crouch. His glance was at once
47
OF MICE AND MEN
calculating and pugnacious. Lennie squirmed un-
der the look and shifted his feet nervously.
Curley stepped gingerly close to him. “You
the new guys the old man was waitin’ for?”
“We just come in,” said George.
“Let the big guy talk.”
Lennie twisted with embarrassment.
George said, “S’pose he don’t want to talk?”
Curley lashed his body around. “By Christ,
he’s gotta talk when he’s spoke to. What the
hell are you gettin’ into it for?”
“We travel together,” said George coldly.
“Oh, so it’s that way.”
George was tense, and motionless. “Yeah, it’s that way.”
Lennie was looking helplessly to George for instruction.
“An’ you won’t let the big guy talk, is that it?”
“He can talk if he wants to tell you any- thing.” He nodded slightly to Lennie.
“We jus’ come in,” said Lennie softly.
48
OF MICE AND MEN
Curley stared levelly at him. “Well, nex’ time
you answer when you’re spoke to.” He turned
toward the door and walked out, and his elbows
were still bent out a little.
George watched him out, and then he turned
back to the swamper. “Say, what the hell’s he
got on his shoulder? Lennie didn’t do nothing
to him.”
The old man looked cautiously at the door to
make sure no one was listening. “That’s the
boss’s son,” he said quietly. “Curley’s pretty
handy. He done quite a bit in the ring. He’s a
lightweight, and he’s handy.”
“Well, let him be handy,” said George. “He
don’t have to take after Lennie. Lennie didn’t do
nothing to him. What’s he got against Lennie?”
The swamper considered “Well .... tell
you what. Curley’s like a lot of little guys. He
hates big guys. He’s alia time picking scraps with
big guys. Kind of like he’s mad at ’em because
he ain’t a big guy. You seen little guys like that,
ain’t you? Always scrappy?”
49
OF MICE AND MEN
“Sure,” said George. “I seen plenty tough lit-
tle guys. But this Curley better not make no
mistakes about Lennie. Lcnnie ain’t handy, but
this Curley punk is gonna get hurt if he messes
around with Lennie.”
“Well, Curley’s pretty handy,” the swamper
said skeptically. “Never did seem right to me.
S’posc Curley jumps a big guy an’ licks him.
Ever’body says what a game guy Curley is. And
s’pose he docs the same thing and gets licked.
Then ever’body says the big guy oughtta pick
somebody his own size, and maybe they gang
up on the big guy. Never did seem right to me.
Seems like Curley ain’t givin’ nobody a chance.”
George w r as watching the door. He said omi-
nously, “W T ell, he better watch out for Lennie.
Lennie ain’t no fighter, but Lennie’s strong and
quick and Lennie don’t know no rules.” He
walked to the square table and sat down on one
of the boxes. He gathered some of the cards
together and shuffled them.
The old man sat down on another box.
5 °
OF MICE AND MEN
“Don’t tell Curley I said none of this. He’d
slough me. lie just don’t give a damn. Won’t
ever get canned ’cause his old man’s the boss.”
George cut the cards and began turning them
over, looking at each one and throwing it down
on a pile. He said, “This guy Curley sounds like
a son-of-a-bitch to me. 1 don’t like mean little
guys-”
“Seems to me like he’s worse lately,” said the
swamper. “lie got married a couple of weeks
ago. Wife lives over in the boss’s house. Seems
like Curley is cockier’n ever since he got mar-
ried.”
George grunted, “Maybe he’s showin’ off foi his wife.”
The swamper warmed to his gossip. “You seen that glove on his left hand?”
“Yeah. I seen it.”
“Well, that glove’s fulla vaseline.”
“Vaseline? What the hell for?”
“Well, I tell ya what— Curley says he’s keepin’ that hand soft for his wife.”
5 1
OF MICE AND MEN
George studied the cards absorbedly. “That’s a dirty thing to tell around,” he said.
The old man was reassured. He had drawn a
derogatory statement from George. He felt safe
now, and he spoke more confidently. “Wait’ll
you see Curley’s wife.”
George cut the cards again and put out a soli-
taire lay, slowly and deliberately. “Purty?” he
asked casually.
“Yeah. Purty .... but — ”
George studied his cards. “But what?”
“Well— she got the eye.”
“Yeah? Married two weeks and got the eye? Maybe that’s why Curley’s pants is full of ants.”
“I seen her give Slim the eye. Slim’s a jerk-
line skinner. Hell of a nice fella. Slim don’t need
to wear no high-heeled boots on a grain team. I
seen her give Slim the eye. Curley never seen it.
An’ I seen her give Carlson the eye.”
George pretended a lack of interest. “Looks like we was gonna have fun.”
The swamper stood up from his box. “Know 52
OF MICE AND MEN
what I think?” George did not answer. “Well, I think Curley’s married .... a tart.”
“He ain’t the first,” said George. “There’s plenty done that.”
The old man moved toward the door, and his
ancient dog lifted his head and peered about, and
then got painfully to his feet to follow. “I gotta
be settin’ out the wash basins for the guys. The
teams’ll be in before long You guys gonna
buck barley?”
“Yeah.”
“You won’t tell Curley nothing I said?”
“Hell no.”
“Well, you look her over, mister. You see if
she ain’t a tart.” He stepped out the door into
the brilliant sunshine.
George laid down his cards thoughtfully,
turned his piles of three. He built four clubs on
his ace pile. The sun square was on the floor
now, and the flies whipped through it like
sparks. A sound of jingling harness and the
croak of heavy-laden axles sounded from out-
53
OF MICE AND MEN
side. From the distance came a clear call. “Stable
Buck— ooh, sta-able Buck! And then, “Where
the hell is that God damn nigger?”
George stared at his solitaire lay, and then he
flounced the cards together and turned around
to Lennie. Lcnnie was lying down on the bunk
watching him.
“Look, Lennie! This here ain’t no set up. I’m
scared. You gonna have trouble with that Cur-
ley guy. I seen that kind before. He was kinda
feelin’ you out. He figures he’s got you scared
and he’s gonna take a sock at you the first
chance he gets.”
Lennie’s eyes were frightened. “I don’t want
no trouble,” he said plaintively. “Don’t let him
sock me, George.”
George got up and went over to Lennie’s
bunk and sat down on it. “I hate that kinda bas-
tard,” he said. “I seen plenty of ’em. Like the
old guy says, Curley don’t take no chances. He
always wins.” He thought for a moment. “If he
tangles with you, Lennie, we’re gonna get the
54
OF MICE AND MEN
can. Don’t make no mistake about that. He’s
the boss’s son. Look, Lennie. You try to keep
away from him, will you? Don’t never speak to
him. If he comes in here you move clear to the
other side of the room. Will you do that, Lem
nie?”
“I don’t want no trouble,” Lennie mourned. “I never done nothing to him.”
“Well, that won’t do you no good if Curley
wants to plug himself up for a fighter. Just don’t
have nothing to do with him. Will you remem-
ber?”
“Sure, George. I ain’t gonna say a word.”
The sound of the approaching grain teams
was louder, thud of big hooves on hard ground,
drag of brakes and the jingle of trace chains.
Men were calling back and forth from the
teams. George, sitting on the bunk beside Len-
nie, frowned as he thought. Lennie asked tim-
idly, “You ain’t mad, George?”
“I ain’t mad at you. I’m mad at this here Cur- ley bastard. I hoped we was gonna get a little
55
OF MICE AND MEN
stake together— maybe a hundred dollars.” His
tone grew decisive. “You keep away from Cur-
ley, Lennie.”
“Sure I will, George. I won’t say a word.”
“Don’t let him pull you in— but— if the son- of-a-bitch socks you— let ’ini have it.”
“Let ’im have what, George?”
“Never mind, never mind. I’ll tell you when. I hate that kind of a guy. Look, Lennie, if you get in any kind of trouble, you remember what I told you to do?”
Lennie raised up on his elbow. His face con-
torted with thought. Then his eyes moved sadly
to George’s face. “If I get in any trouble, you
ain’t gonna let me tend the rabbits.”
“That’s not what I meant. You remember where we slep’ last night? Down by the river?”
“Yeah. I remember. Oh, sure I remember! I go there an’ hide in the brush.”
“Hide till I come for you. Don’t let nobody
see you. Hide in the brush by the river. Say that
over.”
56
OF MICE AND MEN
“Hide in the brush by the river, down in the brush by the river.”
“If you get in trouble.”
“If I get in trouble.”
A brake screeched outside. A call came, “Stable-Buck. Oh! Sta-able Buck.”
George said, “Say it over to yourself, Lennie, so you won’t forget it.”
Both men glanced up, for the rectangle of
sunshine in the doorway was cut off. A girl was
standing there looking in. She had full, rouged
lips and wide-spaced eyes, heavily made up. Her
fingernails were red. Her hair hung in little
rolled clusters, like sausages. She wore a cotton
house dress and red mules, on the insteps of
which were little bouquets of red ostrich
feathers. “I’m lookin’ for Curley,” she said. Her
voice had a nasal, brittle quality.
George looked away from her and then back. “He was in here a minute ago, but he went.”
“Oh!” She put her hands behind her back and leaned against the door frame so that her body
57
OF MICE AND MEN
was thrown forward. “You’re the new fellas that just come, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah.”
Lennie’s eyes moved down over her bodv, and
though she did not seem to be looking at Lennie
she bridled a little. She looked at her fingernails.
“Sometimes Curley’s in here,” she explained.
George said brusquely, “Well he ain’t now.”
“If he ain’t, I guess I better look some place else,” she said playfully.
Lennie watched her, fascinated. George said,
“If I see him. I’ll pass the word you was look-
ing for him.”
She smiled archly and twitched her body.
“Nobody can’t blame a person for lookin’,” she
said. There were footsteps behind her, going by.
She turned her head. “Hi, Slim,” she said.
Slim’s voice came through the door. “Hi, Good-lookin’.”
“I’m tryin’ to find Curley, Slim.”
“Well, you ain’t tryin’ very hard. I seen him goin’ in your house.”
58
OF MICE AND MEN
She was suddenly apprehensive. “ ’Bye, boys,”
she called into the bunk house, and she hurried
away.
George looked around at Lennic. “Jesus, what
a tramp,” he said. “So that’s what Curley picks
for a wife.”
“She’s purty,” said Lennie defensively.
“Yeah, and she’s sure hidin’ it. Curley got his
work ahead of him. Bet she’d clear out for
twenty bucks.”
Lennie still stared at the doorway where she
had been. “Gosh, she was purty.” He smiled
admiringly. George looked quickly down at him
and then he took him by an ear and shook him.
“Listen to me, you crazy bastard,” he said
fiercely. “Don’t you even take a look at that
bitch. I don’t care what she says and what she
does. I seen ’em poison before, but I never seen
no piece of jail bait worse than her. You leave
her be.”
Lennie tried to disengage his ear. “I never done nothing, George.”
59
OF MICE AND MEN
“No, you never. But when she was standin’
in the doorway showin’ her legs, you wasn’t
lookin’ the other way, neither.”
“I never meant no harm, George. Honest I never.”
“Well, you keep away from her, ’cause she’s
a rat-trap if I ever seen one. You let Curley take
the rap. He let himself in for it. Glove fulla
vaseline,” George said disgustedly. “An’ I bet
he’s eatin’ raw eggs and writin’ to the patent
medicine houses.”
Lennie cried out suddenly— “I don’ like this
place, George. This ain’t no good place. I wanna
get outa here.”
“We gotta keep it till we get a stake. We
can’t help it, Lennie. We’ll get out jus’ as soon
as we can. I don’t like it no better than you do.”
He went back to the table and set out a new
solitaire hand. “No, I don’t like it,” he said.
“For two bits I’d shove out of here. If we can
get jus’ a few dollars in the poke we’ll shove off
and go up the American River and pan gold,
60
OF MICE AND MEN
We can make maybe a couple of dollars a day there, and we might hit a pocket.”
Lennie leaned eagerly toward him. “Le’s go, George. Le’s get outta here. It’s mean here.”
“We gotta stay,” George said shortly. “Shut up now. The guys’ll be cornin’ in.”
From the washroom nearby came the sound
of running water and rattling basins. George
studied the cards. “Maybe we oughtta wash up,”
he said. “But we ain’t done nothing to get
dirty.”
A tall man stood in the doorway. He held a
crushed Stetson hat under his arm while he
combed his long, black, damp hair straight back.
Like the others he wore blue jeans and a short
denim jacket. When he had finished combing his
hair he moved into the room, and he moved with
a majesty only achieved by royalty and master
craftsmen. He was a jerkline skinner, the prince
of the ranch, capable of driving ten, sixteen,
even twenty mules with a single line to the lead-
ers. He was capable of killing a fly on the
61
OF MICE AND MEN
wheeler’s butt with a bull whip without touch-
ing the mule. There was a gravity in his manner
and a quiet so profound that all talk stopped
when he spoke. Ilis authority was so great that
his word was taken on any subject, be it politics
or love. This was Slim, the jerkline skinner. His
hatchet face was ageless. He might have been
thirty-five or fifty. His ear heard more than was
said to him, and his slow speech had overtones
not of thought, but of understanding beyond
thought. His hands, large and lean, were as deli-
cate in their action as those of a temple dancer.
He smoothed out his crushed hat, creased it in
the middle and put it on. He looked kindly at
the two in the bunk house. “It’s brighter’n a
bitch outside,” he said gently. “Can’t hardly see
nothing in here. You the new guys?”
“Just come,” said George.
“Gonna buck barley?”
“That’s what the boss says.”
Slim sat down on a box across the table from
George. He studied the solitaire hand that was
6 2
OF MICE AND MEN
upside down to him. “Hope you get on my
team,” he said. His voice was very gentle. “I
gotta pair of punks on my team that don’t know
a barley bag from a blue ball. You guys ever
bucked any barley?”
“Hell, yes,” said George. “I ain’t nothing to
scream about, but that big bastard there can put
up more grain alone than most pairs can.”
Lennie, who had been following the conver-
sation back and forth with his eyes, smiled
complacently at the compliment. Slim looked ap-
provingly at George for having given the com-
pliment. He leaned over the table and snapped
the comer of a loose card. “You guys travel
around together?” His tone was friendly. It
invited confidence without demanding it.
“Sure,” said George. “We kinda look after
each other.” He indicated Lennie with his
thumb. “He ain’t bright. Hell of a good worker,
though. Hell of a nice fella, but he ain’t bright.
I’ve knew him for a long time.”
Slim looked through George and beyond him.
63
OF MICE AND MEN
“Ain’t many guys travel around togerher,” he
mused. “I don’t know why. Maybe ever’body
in the whole damn world is scared of each
other.”
“It’s a lot nicer to go around with a guy you know,” said George.
A powerful, big-stomached man came into
the bunk house. His head still dripped water
from the scrubbing and dousing. “Hi, Slim,” he
said, and then stopped and stared at George and
Lennie.
“These guys jus’ come,” said Slim by way of introduction.
“Glad ta meet ya,” the big man said. “My name’s Carlson.”
“I’m George Milton. This here’s Lennie Small.”
“Glad ta meet ya,” Carlson said again. “He
ain’t very small.” He chuckled softly at his
joke. “Ain’t small at all,” he repeated. “Meant
to ask you, Slim— how’s your bitch? I seen she
wasn’t under your wagon this morning.”
<*4
OF MICE AND MEN
“She slang her pups last night,” said Slim.
“Nine of ’em. I drowned four of ’em right off.
She couldn’t feed that many.”
“Got five left, huh?”
“Yeah, five. I kept the biggest.”
“What kinda dogs you think they’re gonna be?”
“I dunno,” said Slim. “Some kinda shepherds,
'I guess. That’s the most kind I seen around here
when she was in heat.”
Carlson went on, “Got five pups, huh. Gonna keep all of ’em?”
“I dunno. Have to keep ’em a while so they can drink Lulu’s milk.”
Carlson said thoughtfully, “Well, looka here,
Slim. I been thinkin’. That dog of Candy’s is so
God damn old he can’t hardly walk. Stinks like
hell, too. Ever’ time he comes into the bunk
house I can smell him for two, three days.
Why ’n’t you get Candy to shoot his old dog and
give him one of the pups to raise up? I can smell
that dog a mile away. Got no teeth, damn near
6 5
OF MICE AND MEN
blind, can’t cat. Candy feeds him milk. He can’t chew nothing else.”
George had been staring intently at Slim. Sud-
denly a triangle began to ring outside, slowly at
first, and then faster and faster until the beat of
it disappeared into one ringing sound. It stopped
as suddenly as it had started.
“There she goes,” said Carlson.
Outside, there was a burst of voices as a group of men went by.
Slim stood up slowly and with dignity. “You
guys better come on while they’s still something
to eat. Won’t be nothing left in a couple of min-
utes.”
Carlson stepped back to let Slim precede him, and then the two of them went out the door.
Lennie was watching George excitedly.
George rumpled his cards into a messy pile.
“Yeah!” George said, “I heard him, Lennie. I’ll
ask him.”
“A brown and white one,” Lennie cried ex- citedly.
66
OF MICE AND MEN
“Come on. Lc’s get dinner. I don’t know whether he got a brown and white one.”
Lcnnie didn’t move from his bunk. “You ask
him right away, George, so he won’t kill no
more of ’em.”
“Sure. Come on now, get up on your feet.”
Lcnnie rolled off his bunk and stood up, and
the two of them started for the door. Just as
they reached it, Curley bounced in.
“You seen a girl around here?” he demanded angrily.
George said coldly. “ ’Bout half an hour ago maybe.”
“Well what the hell was she doin’?”
George stood still, watching the angry little
man. He said insultingly, “She said— she was
lookin’ for you.”
Curley seemed really to see George for the
first time. His eyes flashed over George, took in
his height, measured his reach, looked at his trim
middle. “Well, which way’d she go?” he de-
manded at last.
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OF MICE AND MEN
“I dunno,” said George. “I didn’ watch her g°-
Curley scowled at him, and turning, hurried out the door.
George said, “Ya know, Lennie, I’m scared
I’m gonna tangle with that bastard myself. I
hate his guts. Jesus Christ! Come on. They
won’t be a damn thing left to eat.”
They went out the door. The sunshine lay
in a thin line under the window. From a distance
there could be heard a rattle of dishes.
After a moment the ancient dog walked
lamely in through the open door. He gazed
about with mild, half-blind eyes. He sniffed, and
then lay down and put his head between his
paws. Curley popped into the doorway again
and stood looking into the room. The dog raised
his head, but when Curley jerked out, the griz-
zled head sank to the floor again.
3
ALTHOUGH there was evening brightness
showing through the windows of the bunk ,
house, inside it was dusk. Through the open
door came the thuds and occasional clangs of a
horseshoe game, and now and then the sound
of voices raised in approval or derision.
Slim and George came into the darkening
bunkhouse together. Slim reached up over the
card table and turned on the tin-shaded electric
light. Instantly the table was brilliant with light,
and the cone of the shade threw its brightness
straight downward, leaving the comers of the
bunk house still in dusk. Slim sat down on a box
and George took his place opposite.
“It wasn’t nothing,” said Slim. “I would of
had to drowned most of ’em anyways. No need
to thank me about that.”
69
OF MICE AND MEN
George said, “It wasn’t much to you, maybe,
but it was a hell of a lot to him. Jesus Christ, I
don’t know how we’re gonna get him to sleep in
here. He’ll want to sleep right out in the barn
with ’em. We’ll have trouble keepin’ him from
getting right in the box with them pups.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” Slim repeated. “Say, you
sure was right about him. Maybe he ain’t bright,
but 1 never seen such a worker. He damn near
killed his partner buckin’ barley. There ain’t
nobody can keep up with him. God awmighty
I never seen such a strong guy.”
George spoke proudly. “Jus’ tell Lennie what
to do an’ he’ll do it if it don’t take no figuring.
He can’t think of nothing to do himself, but he
sure can take orders.”
There was a clang of horseshoe on iron stake outside and a little cheer of voices.
Slim moved back slightly so the light was not
on his face. “Funny how you an’ him string
along together.” It was Slim’s calm invitation to
confidence.
70
OF MICE AND MEN
“What’s funny about it?” George demanded defensively.
“Oh, I dunno. Hardly none of the guys ever
travel together. 1 hardly never seen two guys
travel together. You know how the hands are,
they just come in and get their bunk and work
a month, and then they quit and go out alone.
Never seem to give a damn about nobody. It
jus’ seems kinda funny a cuckoo like him and a
smart little guy like you travelin’ together.”
“IJc ain’t no cuckoo,” said George. “He’s
dumb as hell, but he ain’t crazy. An’ I ain’t so
bright neither, or I wouldn’t be buckin’ barley
for my fifty and found. If I was bright, if I was
even a little bit smart, I’d have my own little
place, an’ I’d be bringin’ in my own crops, ’stead
of doin’ all the work and not getting what comes
up outa the ground.” George fell silent. He
wanted to talk. Slim neither encouraged nor dis-
couraged him. He just sat back quiet and recep-
tive.
“It ain’t so funny, him an’ me goin’ aroun’ to-
7 *
OF MICE AND MEN
gether,” George said at last. “Him and me was
both born in Auburn. I knowed his Aunt Clara.
She took him when he was a baby and raised him
up. When his Aunt Clara died, Lennie just come
along with me out workin’. Got kinda used to
each other after a little while.”
“Uinm,” said Slim.
George looked over at Slim and saw the calm,
God-like eyes fastened on him. “Funny,” said
George. “I used to have a hell of a lot of fun
with ’im. Used to play jokes on ’im ’cause he was
too dumb to take care of ’imself. But he was too
dumb even to know he had a joke played on
him. I had fun. Made me seem God damn smart
alongside of him. Why he’d do any damn thing
I tol’ him. If I tol’ him to walk over a cliff, over
he’d go. That wasn’t so damn much fun after a
while. He never got mad about it, neither. I’ve
beat the hell outa him, and he coulda bust every
bone in my body jus’ with his han’s, but he
never lifted a finger against me.” George’s voice
was taking on the tone of confession. “Tell you
72
OF MICE AND MEN
what made me stop that. One day a bunch of
guys was standin’ around up on the Sacramento
River. I was feelin’ pretty smart. I turns to Len-
nie and says, ‘Jump in.’ An’ he jumps. Couldn’t
swim a stroke. He damn near drowned before
we could get him. An’ he was so damn nice to
me for pullin’ him out. Clean forgot I told him
to jump in. Well, I ain’t done nothing like that
no more.”
“He’s a nice fella,” said Slim. “Guy don’t
need no sense to be a nice fella. Seems to me
sometimes it jus’ works the other way around.
Take a real smart guy and he ain’t hardly ever
9 nice fella.”
George stacked the scattered cards and began
to lay out his solitaire hand. The shoes thudded
on the ground outside. At the windows the light
of the evening still made the window squares
bright.
“I ain’t got no people,” George said. “I seen
the guys that go around on the ranches alone.
That ain’t no good. They don’t have no fun.
73
OF MICE AND MEN
After a long time they get mean. They get wantin’ to fight all the time.”
“Yeah, they get mean,” Slim agreed. “They get so they don’t want to talk to nobody.”
“ ’Course Lennie’s a God damn nuisance most
of the time,” said George. “But you get used to
goin’ around with a guy an’ you can’t get rid of
him.”
“He ain’t mean,” said Slim. “1 can see Lcn- nie ain’t a bit mean.”
“ ’Course he ain’t mean. But he gets in trouble alia time because he’s so God damn dumb. Like
what happened in Weed ” lie stopped,
stopped in the middle of turning over a card.
He looked alarmed and peered over at Slim.
“You wouldn’t tell nobody?”
“What’d he do in Weed?” Slim asked calmly.
“You wouldn’ tell? .... No, ’course you wouldn’.”
“What’d he do in Weed?” Slim asked again.
“Well, lie seen this girl in a red dress. Dumb
bastard like he is, he wants to touch ever’thing
74
OF MICE AND MEN
he likes. Just wants to feel it. So he reaches out
to feel this red dress an’ the girl lets out a
squawk, and that gets Lennie all mixed up, and
he holds on ’cause that’s the only thing he can
think to do. Well, this girl squawks and
squawks. I was jus’ a little bit off, and I heard
all the yellin’, so I comes running, an’ by that
time Lennie’s so scared all he can think to do is
jus’ hold on. 1 socked him over the head with a
fence picket to make him let go. He was so
scairt he couldn’t let go of that dress. And he’s
so God damn strong, you know.”
Slim’s eyes were level and unwinking. He nodded very slowly. “So what happens?”
George carefully built his line of solitaire
cards. “Well, that girl rabbits in an’ tells the law
she been raped. The guys in Weed start a party
out to lynch Lennie. So we sit in a irrigation
ditch under water all the rest of that day. Got
on’y our heads sticking outa water, an’ up under
the grass that sticks out from the side of the
ditch. An’ that night we scrammed outa there.”
75
OF MICE AND MEN
Slim sat in silence for a moment. “Didn’t hurt the girl none, huh?” he asked finally.
“Hell, no. He just scared her. I’d be scared
too if he grabbed me. But he never hurt her.
He jus’ wanted to touch that red dress, like he
wants to pet them pups all the time.”
“He ain’t mean,” said Slim. “I can tell a mean guy a mile off.”
“ ’Course he ain’t, and he’ll do any damn thing I ”
Lennie came in through the door. He wore
his blue denim coat over his shoulders like a
cape, and he walked hunched way over.
“Hi, Lennie,” said George. “How you like the pup now?”
Lennie said breathlessly, “He’s brown an’
white jus’ like I wanted.” He went directly to
his bunk and lay down and turned his face to the
wall and drew up his knees.
George put down his cards very deliberately. “Lennie,” he said sharply.
Lennie twisted his neck and looked over his shoulder. “Huh? What you want, George?”
76
OF MICE AND MEN
“I tol’ you you couldn’t bring that pup in here.”
“What pup, George? I ain’t got no pup.”
George went quickly to him, grabbed him by
the shoulder and rolled him over. He reached
down and picked the tiny puppy from where
Lennie had been concealing it against his
stomach.
Lennie sat up quickly. “Give ’um to me, George.”
George said, “You get right up an’ take this
pup back to the nest. He’s gotta sleep with his
mother. You want to kill him? Just bom last
night an’ you take him out of the nest. You
take him back or I’ll tell Slim not to let you have
him.”
Lennie held out his hands pleadingly. “Give
’um to me, George. I’ll take ’um back. I didn’t
mean no harm, George. Honest I didn’t. I jus’
wanted to pet ’um a little.”
George handed the pup to him. “Awright. You get him back there quick, and don’t you
77
OF MICE AND MEN
take him out no more. You’ll kill him, the first
thing you know.” Lennie fairly scuttled out of
the room.
Slim had not moved. His calm eyes followed
Lennie out the door. “Jesus,” he said, “lie’s jes’
like a kid, ain’t he.”
“Sure he’s jes’ like a kid. There ain’t no more
harm in him than a kid neither, except he’s so
strong. I bet he won’t come in here to sleep to-
night. He’d sleep right alongside that box in the
bam. Well— let ’im. He ain’t doin’ no harm out
there.”
It was almost dark outside now. Old Candy,
the swamper, came in and went to his bunk, and
behind him struggled his old dog. “Hello, Slim.
Hello, George. Didn’t neither of you play horse-
shoes?”
“I don’t like to play ever’ nig!-..,” said Slim.
Candy went on, “Either you guys got a. slug of whisky? I gotta gut ache.”
“I ain’t,” said Slim. “I’d drink it myself if I had, an’ I ain’t got a gut ache neither.”
78
OF MICE AND MEN
“Gotta bad gut ache,” said Candy. “Them
God damn turnips give it to me. 1 knowed they
was going to before I ever eat ’em.”
The thick-bodied Carlson came in out of the
darkening yard. He walked to the other end of
the bunk house and turned on the second shaded
light. “Darker’n hell in here,” he said. “Jesus,
how that nigger can pitch shoes.”
“He’s plenty good,” said Slim.
“Damn right he is,” said Carlson. “He don’t
give nobody else a chance to win ” He
stopped and sniffed the air, and still sniffing,
looked down at the old dog. “God awmighty,
that dog stinks. Get him outa here, Candy! I
don't know nothing that stinks as bad as an old
dog. You gotta get him out.”
C;tw.V rolled to the edge of his bunk. He
reached over : an( ] patted the ancient dog, and
he apologized, “I been around him so much I
nc*ver notic e how he stinks.”
-“Veil, I can’t stand him in here,” said Carl- son. “That stink hangs around even after he’s
If'
79
OF MICE AND MEN
gone. He walked over with his heavy-legged
stride and looked down at the dog. “Got no
teeth,” he said. “He’s all stiff with rheumatism.
He ain’t no good to you, Candy. An’ he ain’t
no good to himself. Why’n’t you shoot him.
Candy?”
The old man squirmed uncomfortably. “Well
—hell! I had him so long. Had him since he was
a pup. I herded sheep with him.” He said
proudly, “You wouldn’t think it to look at him
now, but he was the best damn sheep dog 1 ever
seen.”
George said, “I seen a guy in Weed that had
an Airedale could he 1 *^- 1 vvent to his bd it from
the other dogs.” h' s °ld dog. “Hcl
Carlson was not ’ r neither of you pi a;. Candy. This ol’ dog jus’ si ;lf all the time. If
you was to take him o ft a:' i shoo, said Sim. in
the back of the head—” he Iear2 gory ' nd
pointed, “—right there, why he’d i/, o > w
what hit him.” ^
•t
Candy looked about unhappily. “No,” he said 80
OF MICE AND MEN
softly. “No, I couldn’ do that. I had ’im too long.”
“He don’t have no fun,” Carlson insisted.
“And he stinks to beat hell. Tell you what. I’ll
shoot him for you. Then it won’t be you that
does it.”
Candy threw his legs off his bunk. He
scratched the white stubble whiskers on his
cheek nervously. “I’m so used to him,” he said
softly. “I had him from a pup.”
“Well, you ain’t bein’ kind to him keepin’
him alive,” said Carlson. “Look, Slim’s bitch got
a litter right now. I bet Slim would give you one
of them pups to raisr- i{ lm wouldn’t you. Slim?”
The skinner hai’ irr t j iat staying the old dog
with his c J ah, rra , er out .’he said. “You can
have a pup if you v ) r } ie rc j f de seemed to shake
himself free for spi v ch. “Carl’s right, Candy.
That dog ain’t no good to himself. I wisht some-
body’d shoot me if I get old an’ a cripple.”
Candy looked helplessly at him, for Slim’s opinions were law. “Maybe it’d hurt him,” he
81
OF MICE AND MEN
suggested. “I don’t mind talcin’ care of him.”
Carlson said, “The way I’d shoot him, he
wouldn’t feel nothing. I’d put the gun right
there.” He pointed with his toe. “Right back of
the head. He wouldn’t even quiver.”
Candy looked for help from face to face. It
was quite dark outside by now. A young labor-
ing man came in. His sloping shoulders were
bent forward and he walked heavily on his heels,
as though he carried the invisible grain bag. He
went to his bunk and put his hat on his shelf.
Then he picked a pulp magazine from his shelf
and brought it to the light over the table. “Did
I show you this, Slim?” he asked.
“Show me what?”
The young man turned to the back of the
magazine, put it down on the table and pointed
with his finger. “Right there, read that.” Slim
bent over it. “Go on,” said the young man.
“Read it out loud.”
“ ‘Dear Editor’ Slim read slowly. “ ‘I read
your mag for six years and I think it is the best
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OF MICE AND MEN
on the market. I like stories by Peter Rand. I
think he is a whing-ding. Give us more like the
Dark Rider. I don’t write many letters. Just
thought I would tell you I think your mag is
the best dime’s worth I ever spent.’ ”
Slim looked up questioningly. “What you want me to read that for?”
Whit said, “Go on. Read the name at the bot- tom.”
Slim read, “ ‘Yours for success, William Ten-
ner.’ ” He glanced up at Whit again. “What you
want me to read that for?”
Whit closed the magazine impressively.
“Don’t you remember Bill Tenner? Worked
here about three months ago?”
Slim thought. . . . “Little guy?” he asked. “Drove a cultivator?”
“That’s him,” Whit cried. “That’s the guy!”
“You think he’s the guy wrote this letter?”
“I know it. Bill and me was in here one day.
Bill had one of them books that just come. He
was lookin’ in it and he says, ‘I wrote a letter.
83
OF MICE AND MEN
Wonder if they put it in the book!’ But it wasn’t
there. Bill says, ‘Maybe they’re savin’ it for
later.’ An’ that’s just what they done. There
it is.”
“Guess you’re right,” said Slim. “Got it right In the book.”
George held out his hand for the magazine. “Let’s look at it?”
Whit found the place again, but he did not
surrender his hold on it. He pointed out the let-
ter with his forefinger. And then he went to
his box shelf and laid the magazine carefully in.
“I wonder if Bill seen it,” he said. “Bill and me
worked in that patch of field peas. Run cultiva-
tors, both of us. Bill was a hell of a nice fella.”
During the conversation Carlson had refused
to be drawn in. He continued to look down at
the old dog. Candy watched him uneasily. At
last Carlson said, “If you want me to, I’ll put the
old devil out of his misery right now and get it
over with. Ain’t nothing left for him. Can’t eat,
can’t see, can’t even walk without hurtin’.”
Candy said hopefully, “You ain’t got no gun.” 84
OF MICE AND MEN
“The hell I ain’t. Got a Luger. It won’t hurt him none at all.”
Candy said, “Maybe tomorra. Le’s wait till tomorra.”
“I don’t see no reason for it,” said Carlson.
He went to his bunk, pulled his bag from under-
neath it and took out a Luger pistol. “Le’s get it
over with,” he said. “We can’t sleep with him
stinkin’ around in here.” He put the pistol in his
hip pocket.
Candy looked a long time at Slim to try to
find some reversal. And Slim gave him none. At
last Candy said softly and hopelessly, “Awright
—take ’im.” He did not look down at the dog at
all. He lay back on his bunk and crossed his arms
behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
From his pocket Carlson took a little leather
thong. He stooped over and tied it around the
old dog’s neck. All the men except Candy
watched him. “Come boy. Come on, boy,” he
said gently. And he said apologetically to Candy,
“He won’t even feel it.” Candy did not move
nor answer him. He twitched the thong. “Come
85
OF MICE AND MEN
on, boy.” The old dog got slowly and stiffly to his feet and followed the gently pulling leash.
Slim said, “Carlson.”
“Yeah?”
“You know what to do.”
“What ya mean, Slim?”
“Take a shovel,” said Slim shortly.
“Oh, sure! I get you.” l ie led the dog out into the darkness.
George followed to the door and shut the
door and set the latch gently in its place. Candy
lay rigidly on his bed staring at the ceiling.
Slim said loudly, “One of my lead mules got
a bad hoof. Got to get some tar on it.” His voice
trailed off. It was silent outside. Carlson’s foot-
steps died away. The silence come into the
room. And the silence lasted.
George chuckled, “I bet Lennie’s right out
there in the barn with his pup. He won’t want
to come in here no more now he’s got a pup.”
Slim said, “Candy, you can have any one of them pups you want.”
86
OF MICE AND MEN
Candy did not answer. The silence fell on the
room again. It came out of the night and invaded
the room. George said, “Anybody like to play
a little euchre?”
“I’ll play out a few with you,” said Whit.
They took places opposite each other at the
table under the light, but George did not shuffle
the cards. He rippled the edge of the deck ner-
vously, and the little snapping noise drew the
eves of all the men in the room, so that he
stopped doing it. The silence fell on the room
again. A minute passed, and another minute.
Candy lay still, staring at the ceiling. Slim gazed
at him for a moment and then looked down at
his hands; he subdued one hand with the other,
and held it down. There came a little gnawing
sound from under the floor and all the men
looked down toward it gratefully. Only Candy
continued to stare at the ceiling.
“Sounds like there was a rat under there,”
said George. “We ought to get a trap down
there.”
87
OF MICE AND MEN
Whit broke out, “What the hell’s takin’ him
%
so long? Lay out some cards, why don’t you?
We ain’t going to get no euchre played this
way.”
George brought the cards together tightly and
studied the backs of them. The silence was in
the room again.
A shot sounded in the distance. The men
looked quickly at the old man. Every head
turned toward him.
For a moment he continued to stare at the
ceiling. Then he rolled slowly over and faced
the wall and lay silent.
George shuffled the cards noisily and dealt
them. Whit drew a scoring board to him and set
the pegs to start. Whit said, “I guess you guys
really come here to work.”
“How do ya mean?” George asked.
Whit laughed. “Well, ya come on a Friday. You got two days to work till Sunday.”
“I don’t see how you figure,” said George.
Whit laughed again. “You do if you been
88
OF MICE AND MEN
around these big ranches much. Guy that wants
to look over a ranch comes in Sat’day afternoon.
He gets Sat’day night supper an’ three meals on
Sunday, and he can quit Monday morain’ after
breakfast without turning his hand. But you
come to work Friday noon. You got to put in a
day an’ a half no matter how you figure.”
George looked at him levelly. “We’re gonna
stick aroun’ a while,” he said. “Me an’ Lennie’s
gonna roll up a stake.”
The door opened quietly and the stable buck
put in his head; a lean negro head, lined with
pain, the eyes patient. “Mr. Slim.”
Slim took his eyes from old Candy. “Huh? Oh! Hello, Crooks. What’s’a matter?”
“You told me to warm up tar for that mule’s foot. I got it warm.”
“Oh! Sure, Crooks. I’ll come right out an’ put it on.”
“I can do it if you want, Mr. Slim.”
“No. I'll come do it myself.” He stood up. Crooks said, “Mr. Slim.”
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OF MICE AND MEN
“Yeah.”
“That big new guy’s rnessin’ around your pups out in the bam.”
“Well, he ain’t doin’ no harm. I give him one of them pups.”
“Just thought I’d tell ya,” said Crooks. “He’s
takin’ ’em outa the nest and handlin’ them. That
won’t do them no good.”
“He won’t hurt ’em,” said Slim. “I’ll come along with you now.”
George looked up. “If that crazy bastard’s
foolin’ around too much, jus’ kick him out,
Slim.”
Slim followed the stable buck out of the room.
George dealt and Whit picked up his cards
and examined them. “Seen the new kid yet?”
he asked.
“What kid?” George asked.
“Why, Curley’s new wife.”
“Yeah, I seen her.”
‘Well, ain’t she a looloo?”
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“I ain’t seen that much of her,” said George.
Whit laid down his cards impressively. “Well,
stick around an’ keep your eyes open. You’ll see
plenty. She ain’t concealin’ nothing. I never seen
nobody like her. She got the eye goin’ all the
time on everybody. I bet she even gives the
stable buck the eye. I don’t know what the hell
she wants.”
George asked casually, “Been any trouble since she got here?”
It was obvious that Whit was not interested
in his cards. He laid his hand down and George
scooped it in. George laid out his deliberate soli-
taire hand— seven cards, and six on top, and live
on top of those.
Whit said, “I see what you mean. No, they
ain’t been nothing yet. Curley’s got yella-jackets
in his drawers, but that’s all so far. Ever’ time
the guys is around she shows up. She’s lookin’
for Curley, or she thought she lef’ somethin’
Iayin’ around and she’s lookin’ for it. Seems like
she can’t keep away from guys. An’ Curley’s
9i
OF MICE AND MEN
pants is just crawlin’ with ants, but they ain’t nothing come of it yet.”
George said, “She’s gonna make a mess.
They’s gonna be a bad mess about her. She’s a
jail bait all set on the trigger. That Curley got
his work cut out for him. Ranch with a bunch
of guys on it ain’t no place for a girl, specially
like her.”
Whit said, “If you got idears, you ought ta come in town with us guys tomorra night.”
“Why? What’s doin’?”*
“Jus’ the usual thing. We go in to old Susy’s
place. Hell of a nice place. Old Susy’s a laugh—
always crackin’ jokes. Like she says when we
come up on the front porch las’ Sat’day night.
Susy opens the door and then she yells over her
shoulder, ‘Get yor coats on, girls, here comes
the sheriff.’ She never talks dirty, neither. Got
five girls there.”
“What’s it set you back?” George asked.
“Two an’ a half. You can get a shot for two
bits. Susy got nice chairs to set in, too. If a guy
9 *
OF MICE AND MEN
don’t want a flop, why he can just set in the
chairs and have a couple or three shots and pass
the time of day and Susy don’t give a damn. She
ain’t rushin’ guys through and kickin’ ’em out
if they don’t want a flop.”
“Might go in and look the joint over,” said George.
“Sure. Come along. It’s a hell of a lot of fun—
her crackin’ jokes all the time. Like she says one
time, she says, ‘I’ve knew people that if they got
a rag rug on the floor an’ a kewpie doll lamp on
the phonograph they think they’re running a
parlor house.’ That’s Clara’s house she’s talkin’
about. An’ Susy says, ‘I know what you boys
want,’ she says. ‘My girls is clean,’ she says, ‘an’
there ain’t no water in my whisky,’ she says. ‘If
any you guys wanta look at a kewpie doll lamp
an’ take your own chance gettin’ burned, why
you know where to go.’ An’ she says, ‘There’s
guys around here walkin’ bow-legged ’cause
they like to look at a kewpie doll lamp.’ ”
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George asked, “Clara runs the other house, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Whit. “We don’t never go there.
Clara gets three bucks a crack and thirty-five
cents a shot, and she don’t crack no jokes. But
Susy’s place is clean and she got nice chairs.
Don’t let no goo-goos in, neither.”
“Me an’ Lennic’s rollin’ up a stake,” said
George. “I might go in an’ set and have a shot,
bur I ain’t puttin’ out no two and a half.”
“Well, a guy got to have some fun some- time,” said Whit.
The door opened and Lennie and Carlson
came in together. Lennie crept to his bunk and
sat down, trying not to attract attention. Carlson
reached under his bunk and brought out his bag.
He didn’t look at old Candy, who still faced the
wall. Carlson found a little cleaning rod in the
bag and a can of oil. He laid them on his bed
and then brought out the pistol, took out the
magazine and snapped the loaded shell from the
chamber. Then he fell to cleaning the barrel
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OF MICE AND MEN
with the little rod. When the ejector snapped.
Candy turned over and looked for a moment at
the gun before he turned back to the wall again.
Carlson said casually, “Curley been in yet?”
“No,” said Whit. “What’s eatin’ on Curley?”
Carlson squinted down the barrel of his gun.
“Lookin’ for his old lady. I seen him going
round and round outside.”
Whit said sarcastically, “He spends half his
time lookin’ for her, and the rest of the time
she’s lookin’ for him.”
Curley burst into the room excitedly. “Any you guys seen my wife?” he demanded.
“She ain’t been here,” said Whit.
Curley looked threateningly about the room. “Where the hell’s Slim?”
“Went out in the bam,” said George. “He was gonna put some tar on a split hoof.”
Curley’s shoulders dropped and squared. “How long ago’d he go?”
“Five— ten minutes.”
Curley jumped out the door and banged it after him.
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' OF MICE AND MEN
Whit stood up. “I guess maybe I’d like to see
this,” he said. “Curley’s just spoilin’ or he
wouldn’t start for Slim. An’ Curley’s handy, God
damn handy. Got in the finals for the Golden
Gloves. He got newspaper clippings about it.”
He considered. “But jus’ the same, he better
leave Slim alone. Nobody don’t know what
Slim can do.”
“Thinks Slim’s with his wife, don’t he?” said George.
“Looks like it,” Whit said. “ ’Course Slim
ain’t. Least I don’t think Slim is. But 1 like to see
the fuss if it comes off. Come on, le’s go.”
George said, “I’m stayin’ right here. I don’t
want to get mixed up in nothing. Lennie and
me got to make a stake.”
Carlson finished the cleaning of the gun and
put it in the bag and pushed the bag under his
bunk. “I guess I’ll go out and look her over,”
he said. Old Candy lay still, and Lennie, from
his bunk, watched George cautiously.
When Whit and Carlson were gone and the
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door closed after them, George turned to Len- nie. “What you got on your mind?”
“1 ain’t done nothing, George. Slim says I
better not pet them pups so much for a while.
Slim says it ain’t good for them; so I come right
in. I been good, George.”
“I coulda told you that,” said George.
“Well, 1 wasn’t hurtin’ ’em none. I jus’ had mine in my lap pettin’ it.”
George asked, “Did you see Slim out in the barn?”
“Sure I did. He toF me 1 better not pet that pup no more.”
“Did you see that girl?”
“You mean Curley’s girl?”
“Yeah. Did she come in the bam?”
“No. Anyways I never seen her.”
“You never seen Slim talkin’ to her?”
“Uh-uh. She ain’t been in the barn.”
“O.K.,” said George. “I guess them guys ain’t
gonna see no fight. If there’s any fightin’, Len-
nie, you keep out of it.”
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“I don’t want no fights,” said Lennie. He got
up from his bunk and sat down at the table,
across from George. Almost automatically
George shuffled the cards and laid out his soli-
taire hand. He used a deliberate, thoughtful,
slowness.
Lennie reached for a face card and studied
it, then turned it upside down and studied it.
“Both ends the same,” he said. “George, why
is it both end’s the same?”
“I don’t know,” said George. “That’s jus’ the
way they make ’em. What was Slim doin’ in the
bam when you seen him?”
“Slim?”
“Sure. You seen him in the bam, an’ he tol’ you not to pet the pups so much.” '
“Oh, yeah. He had a can a’ tar an’ a paint brush. I don’t know what for.”
“You sure that girl didn’t come in like she come in here today?”
“No. She never come.”
George sighed. “You give me a good whore 98
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house every time,” he said. “A guy can go in
an’ get drunk and get ever’thing outa his system
all at once, an’ no messes. And he knows how
much it’s gonna set him back. These here jail
baits is just set on the trigger of the hoosegow.”
Lennie followed his words admiringly, and
moved his lips a little to keep up. George con-
tinued, “You remember Andy Cushman, Len-
nie? Went to grammar school?”
“The one that his old lady used to make hot cakes for the kids?” Lennie asked.
“Yeah. That’s the one. You can remember
anything if there’s anything to eat in it.” George
looked carefully at the solitaire hand. He put an
ace up on his scoring rack and piled a two, three
and four of diamonds on it. “Andy’s in San
Quentin right now on account of a tart,” said^
George.
Lennie drummed on the table with his fingers. “George?”
“Huh?”
“George, how long’s it gonna be till we get
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that little place an’ live on the fatta the lan— an’ rabbits?”
“I don’ know,” said George. “We gotta get
a big stake together. I know a little place we
can get cheap, but they ain’t givin’ it away.”
Old Candy turned slowly over. His eyes were wide open. He watched George carefully.
Lennie said, “Tell about that place, George.”
“I jus’ toP you, jus’ las’ night.”
“Go on— tell again, George.”
“Well, it’s ten acres,” said George. “Got a
little win ’mill. Got a little shack on it, an’ a
chicken run. Got a kitchen, orchard, cherries,
apples, peaches, ’cots, nuts, got a few berries.
They’s a place for alfalfa and plenty water to
flood it. They’s a pig pen — ”
“An’ rabbits, George.”
“No place for rabbits now, but I could easy
build a few hutches and you could feed alfalfa
to the rabbits.”
“Damn right, I could,” said Lennie. “You God damn right I could.”
too
OF MICE AND MEN
/George’s hands stopped working with the
cards. His voice was growing warmer. “An’ we
could have a few pigs. I could build a smoke
house like the one gran’pa had, an’ when we lull
a pig we can smoke the bacon and the hams,
and make sausage an’ all like that. An’ when the
salmon run up river we could catch a hundred
of ’em an’ salt ’em down or smoke ’em. We
could have them for breakfast. They ain’t noth-
ing so nice as smoked salmon. When the fruit
come in we could can it— and tomatoes, they’re
easy to can. Ever’ Sunday we’d kill a chicken
or a rabbit. Maybe we’d have a cow or a goat,
and the cream is so God damn thick you got to
cut it with a knife and take it out with a spoon.”
Lennie watched him with wide eves, and old
Candy watched him too. Lennie said softly,
“We could live offa the fatta the lan’.”
“Sure,” said George. “All kin’s a vegetables
in the garden, and if we want a little whisky
we can sell a few eggs or something, or some
milk. We’d jus’ live there. We’d belong there.
IOI
OF MICE AND MEN
There wouldn’t be no more runnin’ round the
country and gettin’ fed by a Jap cook. No, sir,
we’d have our own place where we belonged
and not sleep in no bunk house.”
“Tell about the house, George,” Lennie begged.
“Sure, we’d have a little house an’ a room to
ourself. Little fat iron stove, an' in the winter
we’d keep a fire goin’ in it. It ain’t enough land
so we’d have to work too hard. Maybe six, seven
hours a day. We wouldn’t have to buck no bar-
ley eleven hours a day. An’ when we put in a
crop, why, we’d be there to take the crop up.
We’d know what come of our planting.”
“An’ rabbits,” Lennie said eagerly. “An’ I’d take care of ’em. Tell how I’d do that, George.”
“Sure, you’d go out in the alfalfa patch an’
you’d have a sack. You’d fill up the sack and
bring it in an’ put it in the rabbit cages.”
“They’d nibble an’ they’d nibble,” said Len- nie, “the way they do. I seen ’em.”
“Ever’ six weeks or so,” George continued,
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“them docs would throw a litter so we’d have
plenty rabbits to eat an’ to sell. An’ we’d keep
a few pigeons to go flyin’ around the win’mill
like they done when I was a kid.” He looked
raptly at the wall over Lcnnie’s head. “An’ it’d
be our own, an’ nobody could can us. If we
don’t like a guy we can say, ‘Get the hell out,’
and by God he’s got to do it. An’ if a fren’ come
along, why we’d have an extra bunk, an’ we’d
say, ‘Why don’t you spen’ the night?’ an’ by
God he would. We’d have a setter dog and a
couple stripe cats, but you gotta watch out
them cats don’t get the little rabbits.”
Lennic breathed hard. “You jus’ let ’em try to
get the rabbits. I’ll break their God damn necks.
I’ll .... I’ll smash ’em with a stick.” He sub-
sided, grumbling to himself, threatening the
future cats which might dare to disturb the
future rabbits.
George sat entranced with his own picture.
When Candy spoke they both jumped as
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though they had been caught doing something
reprehensible. Candy said, “You know where’s
a place like that?”
George was on guard immediately. “S’pose I do,” he said. “What’s that to you?”
“You don’t need to tell me where it’s at. Might be any place.”
“Sure,” said George. “That’s right. You couldn’t find it in a hundred years.”
Candy went on excitedly, “How much they want for a place like that?”
George watched him suspiciously. “Well— I
could get it for six hundred bucks. The ol’ peo-
ple that owns it is flat bust an’ the ol’ lady needs
an operation. Say— what’s it to you? You got
nothing to do with us.”
Candy said, “I ain’t much good with on’y one
hand. I lost my hand right here on this ranch.
That’s why they give me a job swampin’. An’
they give me two hunderd an’ fifty dollars
’cause I los’ my hand. An’ I got fifty more saved
up right in the bank, right now. Tha’s three
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hunderd, and I got fifty more cornin’ the end
a the month. Tell you what- — ” He leaned for-
ward eagerly. “S’pose I went in with you guys.
Tha’s three hunderd an’ fifty bucks I’d put in.
I ain’t much good, but I could cook and tend
the chickens and hoe the garden some. How’d
that be?”
George half-closed his eyes. “I gotta think
about that. We was always gonna do it by our-
selves.”
Candy interrupted him, “I’d make a will an’
leave my share to you guys in case I kick off,
’cause I ain’t got no relatives nor nothing. You
guys got any money? Maybe we could do her
right now?”
George spat on the floor disgustedly. “We
got ten bucks between us.” Then he said
thoughtfully, “Look, if me an’ Lennie work a
month an’ don’t spen’ nothing, we’ll have a hun-
derd bucks. That’d be four fifty. I bet we could
swing her for that. Then you an’ Lennie could
go get her started an’ I’d get a job an’ make up
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OF MICE AND MEN
the res’, an’ you could sell eggs an’ stuff like that.”
They fell into a silence. They looked at one
another, amazed. This thing they had never
really believed in was coining true. George said
reverently, “Jesus Christ! I bet we could swing
her.” His eyes were full of wonder. “I bet we
could swing her,” he repeated softly.
Candy sat on the edge of his bunk. He
scratched the stump of his wrist nervously. “I
got hurt four year ago,” he said. “They’ll can
me purty soon. Jus’ as soon as 1 can’t swamp out
no bunk houses they’ll put me on the county.
Maybe if I give you guys my money, you’ll let
me hoe in the garden even after I ain’t no good
at it. An’ I’ll wash dishes an’ little chicken stuff
like that. But I’ll be on our own place, an’ I’ll be
let to work on our own place.” He said miser-
ably, “You seen what they done to my dog to-
night? They says he wasn’t no good to himself
nor nobody else. When they can me here I wisht
somebody ’d shoot me. But they won’t do noth-
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OF MICE AND MEN
ing like that. 1 won’t have no place to go, an’ I
can’t get no more jobs. I’ll have thirty dollars
more cornin’, time you guys is ready to quit.”
George stood up. “We’ll do her,” he said.
“We’ll fix up that little old place an’ we’ll go
live there.” He sat down again. They all sat still,
all bemused by the beauty of the thing, each
mind was popped into the future when this
lovely thing should come about.
George said wonderingly, “S’posc they was a
carnival or a circus come to town, or a ball
game, or any damn thing.” Old Candy nodded
in appreciation of the idea. “We’d just go to
her,” George said. “We wouldn’t ask nobody if
we could. Jus’ say, ‘We’ll go to her,’ an’ we
would. Jus’ milk the cow and sling some grain
to the chickens an’ go to her.”
“An’ put some grass to the rabbits,” Lennie
broke in. “I wouldn’t never forget to feed them.
When we gon’ta do it, George?”
“In one month. Right squack in one month. Know what I’m gon’ta do? I’m gon’ta write to
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OF MICE AND MEN
them old people that owns the place that we’ll
take it. An’ Candy’ll send a hunderd dollars to
bind her.”
“Sure will,” said Candy. “They got a good stove there?”
“Sure, got a nice stove, bums coal or wood.”
“I’m gonna take my pup,” said Lennie. “1 bet by Christ he likes it there, by Jesus.”
Voices were approaching from outside.
George said quickly, “Don’t tell nobody about
it. Jus’ us three an’ nobody else. They li’ble to
can us so we can’t make no stake. Jus’ go on
like we was gonna buck barley the rest of our
lives, then all of a sudden some day we’ll go get
our pay an’ scram outa here.”
Lennie and Candy nodded, and they were
grinning with delight. “Don’t tell nobody,”
Lennie said to himself.
Candy said, “George.”
“Huh?”
“I ought to of shot that dog myself, George.
I shouldn’t ought to of let no stranger shoot
my dog.”
OF MICE AND MEN
The door opened. Slim came in, followed by
Curley and Carlson and Whit. Slim’s hands were
black with tar and he was scowling. Curley
hung close to his elbow.
Curley said, “Well, I didn’t mean nothing. Slim. I just ast you.”
Slim said, “Well, you been askin’ me too
often. I’m gettin’ God damn sick of it. If you
can’t look after your own God damn wife, what
you expect me to do about it? You lay off a
me.
“I’m jus’ tryin’ to tell you I didn’t mean noth-
ing,” said Curley. “I jus’ thought you might of
saw her.”
“Why’n’t you tell her to stay the hell home
where she belongs?” said Carlson. “You let her
hang around bunk houses and pretty soon you’re
gonna have som’pin on your hands and you
won’t be able to do nothing about it.”
Curley whirled on Carlson. “You keep outta this les’ you wanta step outside.”
Carlson laughed. “You God damn punk.” he
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said. “You tried to throw a scare into Slim, an’
you couldn’t make it stick. Slim throwed a scare
inta you. You’re yella as a frog belly. 1 don’t
care if you’re the best welter in the country.
You come for me, an’ I’ll kick your God damn
head off.”
Candy joined the attack with joy. “Glove
fulia vaseline,” he said disgustedly. Curley
glared at him. His eyes slipped on past and
lighted on Lennie; and Lcnnie was still smiling
with delight at the memory of the ranch.
Curley stepped over to Lennie like a terrier. “What the hell you laughin’ at?”
Lennie looked blankly at him. “Huh?”
Then Curley’s rage exploded. “Come on, ya
big bastard. Get up on your feet. No big son-of-
a-bitch is gonna laugh at me. I’ll show ya who’s
yella.”
Lennie looked helplessly at George, and then
he got up and tried to retreat. Curley was bal-
anced and poised. He slashed at Lennie with his
left, and then smashed down his nose with a
no
OF MICE AND MEN
right. Lennie gave a cry of terror. Blood welled
from his nose. “George,” he cried. “Make ’um
let me alone, George.” He backed until he was
against the wall, and Curley followed, slugging
him in the face. Lennie’s hands remained at his
sides-, he was too frightened to defend himself.
George was on his feet yelling, “Get him, Lennie. Don’t let him do it.”
Lennie covered his face with his huge paws
and bleated with terror. He cried, “Make ’um
stop, George.” Then Curley attacked his stom-
ach and cut off his wind.
Slim jumped up. “The dirty little rat,” he cried, “i’ll get ’um myself.”
George put out his hand and grabbed Slim.
“Wait a minute,” he shouted. He cupped his
hands around his mouth and yelled, “Get ’im,
Lennie!”
Lennie took his hands away from his face and
looked about for George, and Curley slashed at
his eyes. The big face was covered with blood.
George yelled again, “I said get him.”
ui
OF MICE AND MEN
Curley’s fist was swinging when Lcnnie
reached for it. The next minute Curley was
flopping like a fish on a line, and his closed fist
was lost in Lennie’s big hand. George ran down
the room. “Leggo of him, Lennie. Let go.”
But Lennie watched in terror the flopping
little man whom he held. Blood ran down Len-
nie’s face, one of his eyes was cut and closed.
George slapped him in the face again and again,
and still Lennie held on to the closed fist. Curley
was white and shrunken by now, and his strug-
gling had become weak. He stood crying, his
fist lost in Lennie’s paw.
George shouted over and over, “Leggo his
hand, Lennie. Leggo. Slim, come help me while
the guy got any hand left.”
Suddenly Lennie let go his hold. He crouched
cowering against the wall. “You tol’ me to,
George,” he said miserably.
Curley sat down on the floor, looking in won-
der at his crushed hand. Slim and Carlson bent
over him. Then Slim straightened up and re-
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OF MICE AND MEN
garded Lennie with horror. “We got to get him
in to a doctor,” he said. “Looks to me like ever’
bone in his han’ is bust.”
“I didn’t wanta,” Lennie cried. “I didn’t wanta hurt him.”
Slim said, “Carlson, you get the candy wagon
hitched up. We’ll take ’um into Soledad an’ get
’um fixed up.” Carlson hurried out. Slim turned
to the whimpering Lennie. “It ain’t your fault,”
he said. “This punk sure had it cornin’ to him.
But— Jesus! He ain’t hardly got no han’ left.”
Slim hurried out, and in a moment returned
with a tin cup of water. He held it to Curley’s
lips.
George said, “Slim, will we get canned now?
We need the stake. Will Curley’s old man can
us now?”
Slim smiled wryly. He knelt down beside
Curley. “You got your senses in hand enough
to listen?” he asked. Curley nodded. “Well,
then listen,” Slim went on. “I think you got
your han’ caught in a machine. If you don’t
1x3
OF MICE AND MEN
tell nobody what happened, we ain’t going to.
But you jus’ tell an’ try to get this guy canned
and we’ll tell ever’body, an’ then will you get
the laugh.”
“I won’t tell,” said Curley. He avoided look- ing at Lennie.
Buggy wheels sounded outside. Slim helped
Curley up. “Come on now. Carlson’s gonna take
you to a doctor.” lie helped Curley out the
door. The sound of wheels drew away. In a
moment Slim came back into the bunk house.
He looked at Lennie, still crouched fearfully
against the wall. “Le’s see your hands,” he asked.
Lennie stuck out his hands.
“Christ awmighty, I hate to have you mad at me,” Slim said.
George broke in, “Lennie was jus’ scairt,” he
explained. “He didn’t know what to do. I told
you nobody ought never to fight him. No, I
guess it was Candy I told.”
Candy nodded solemnly. “That’s jus’ what you done,” he said. “Right this morning when
OF MICE AND MEN
Curley first lit intil your fren\ you says, ‘He
better not fool with Lennie if he knows what’s
good for ’um.’ That’s jus’ what you says to me.”
George turned to Lennie. “It ain’t your fault,”
he said. “You don’t need to be scairt no more.
You done jus’ what 1 tol’ you to. Maybe you
better go in the wash room an’ clean up your
face. You look like hell.”
Lennie smiled with his bruised mouth. “I
didn’t want no trouble,” he said. He walked
toward the door, but just before he came to it,
he turned back. “George?”
“What you want?”
“I can still tend the rabbits, George?”
“Sure. You ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“I di’n’t mean no harm, George.”
“Well, get the hell out and wash your face.”
4
CROOKS, the negro stable buck, had his bunk
in the harness room; a little shed that leaned off
the wall of the bam. On one side of the little
room there was a square four-paned window,
and on the other, a narrow plank door leading
into the barn. Crooks’ bunk was a long box
filled with straw, on which his blankets were
flung. On the wall by the window there were
pegs on which hung broken harness in process
of being mended; strips of new leather; and
under the window itself a little bench for
leather-working tools, curved knives and needles
and balls of linen thread, and a small hand riv-
eter. On pegs were also pieces of harness, a split
collar with the horsehair stuffing sticking out, a
broken hame, and a trace chain with its leather
1 16
OF MICE AND MEN
covering split. Crooks had his apple box over his
bunk, and in it a range of medicine bottles, both
for himself and for the horses. There were cans
of saddle soap and a drippy can of tar with its
paint, brush sticking over the edge. And scat-
tered about the floor were a number of personal
possessions; for, being alone, Crooks could leave
his things about, and being a stable buck and a
cripple, he was more permanent than the other
men, and he had accumulated more possessions
than he could carry on his hack.
Crooks possessed several pairs of shoes, a pair
of rubber boots, a big alarm clock and a single-
barreled shotgun. And lie had books, too; a tat-
tered dictionary and a mauled copy of the Cali-
fornia civil code for 1905. There were battered
magazines and a few dirty books on a special
shelf over his bunk. A pair of large gold-rimmed
spectacles hung from a nail on the wall above
his bed.
This room was swept and fairly neat, for Crooks was a proud, aloof man. He kept his dis-
OF MICE AND MEN
tance and demanded that other people keep
theirs. His body was bent over to the left by
his crooked spine, and his eyes lay deep in his
head, and because of their depth seemed to glit-
ter with intensity. His lean face was lined with
deep black wrinkles, and he had thin, pain-tight-
ened lips which were lighter than his face.
It was Saturday night. Through the open door
that led into the barn came the sound of moving
horses, of feet stirring, of teeth champing on
hay, of the rattle of halter chains. In the stable
buck’s room a small electric globe threw a
meager yellow light.
Crooks sat on his bunk. His shirt was out of
his jeans in back. In one hand he held a bottle
of liniment, and with the other he rubbed his
spine. Now and then he poured a few drops of
the liniment into his pink-palmed hand and
reached up under his shirt to rub again. He
flexed his muscles against his back and shivered.
Noiselessly Lennie appeared in the open door-
way and stood there looking in, his big shoulders
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OF MICE AND MEN
nearly filling the opening. For a moment Crooks
did not sec him, but on raising his eyes he
stiffened and a scowl came on his face. His hand
came out from under his shirt.
Lennie smiled helplessly in an attempt to make friends.
Crooks said sharply, “You got no right to
come in my room. This here’s my room.
Nobody got any right in here but me.”
Lennie gulped and his smile grew more fawn-
ing. “I ain’t doing nothing,” he said. “Just come
to look at my puppy. And 1 seen your light,” he
explained.
“Well, 1 got a right to have a light. You go
on get outta my room. I ain’t wanted in the
bunk house, and you ain’t wanted in my room.”
“Why ain’t you wanted?” Lennie asked.
“ ’Cause I’m black. They play cards in there,
but I can’t play because I’m black. They say I
stink. Well, I tell you, you all of you stink
to me.”
Lennie flapped his big hands helplessly.
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OF MICE AND MEN
“Ever’body went into town,” he said. “Slim
an’ George an’ ever’body. George says I gotta
stay here an’ not get in no trouble. I seen your
light.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“Nothing— I seen your light. I thought I could jus’ come in an’ set.”
Crooks stared at Lcnnie, and he readied be-
hind him and took down the spectacles and
adjusted them over his pink ears and stared
again. “I don’t know what you’re doin’ in the
bam anyway,” he complained. “You ain’t no
skinner. They’s no call for a bucker to come
into the barn at all. You ain’t no skinner. You
ain’t got nothing to do with the horses.”
“The pup,” Lennic repeated. “I come to see my pup.”
“Well, go see your pup, then. Don’t come in a place where you’re not wanted.”
Lennie lost his smile. He advanced a step into the room, then remembered and backed to the
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OF MICE AND MEN
door again. “I looked at ’em a little. Slim says I ain’t to pet ’em very much.”
Crooks said, “Well, you been takin’ ’em out
of the nest all the time. 1 wonder the old lady
don’t move ’em someplace else.”
“Oh, she don’t care. She lets me.” Lennie had moved into the room again.
Crooks scowled, but Lcnnic’s disarming smile
defeated him. “Come on in and set a while,”
Crooks said. “ ’Long as you won’t get out and
leave me alone, you might as well set down.”
His tone was a little more friendly. “All the
boys gone inro town, huh?”
“All but old Candy. He just sets in the bunk
house sharpening his pencil and sharpening and
figuring.”
Crooks adjusted his glasses. “Figuring? What’s Candy figuring about?”
Lennie almost shouted, “ ’Bout the rabbits.”
“You’re nuts,” said Crooks. “You’re crazy as a wedge. What rabbits you talkin’ about?”
“Xhe rabbits we’re gonna get, and I get to
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OF MICE AND MEN
tend ’em, cut grass an’ give ’em water, an’ like that.”
“Jus’ nuts,” said Crooks. “1 don’t blame the guy you travel with for keepin’ you outa sight.”
Lennic said quietly, “It ain’t no lie. We’re
gonna do it. Gonna get a little place an’ live on
the fatta the lan’.”
Crooks settled himself more comforrably on
his bunk. “Set down,” he invited. “Set down on
the nail keg.”
Lennie hunched down on the little barrel.
“You think it’s a lie,” Lennie said, “But it ain’t
no lie. Ever’ word’s the truth, an’ you can ast
George.”
Crooks put his dark chin into his pink palm.
“You travel aroun’ with George, don’t ya?”
“Sure. Me an’ him goes ever’ place together.”
Crooks continued. “Sometimes he talks, and
you don’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about.
Ain’t that so?” He leaned forward, boring Len-
nie with his deep eyes. “Ain’t that so?”
“Yeah .... sometimes.”
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OF MICE AND MEN
“Jus’ talks on, an’ you don’t know what the hell it’s all about?”
“Yeah .... sometimes. But .... not always.”
Crooks leaned forward over the edge of the
bunk. “I ain’t a southern negro,” he said. “I was
bom right here in California. My old man had
a chicken ranch, ’bout ten acres. The white kids
come to play at our place, an’ sometimes I went
to play with them, and some of them was pretty
nice. My ol’ man didn’t like that. I never knew
till long later why he didn’t like that. But I
know now.” He hesitated, and when he spoke
again his voice was softer. “There wasn’t an-
other colored family for miles around. And now
there ain’t a colored man on this ranch an’
there’s jus’ one family in Soledad.” He laughed.
“If I say something, why it’s just a nigger say-
in’ it.”
Lcnnie asked, “Flow long you think it’ll be before them pups will be old enough to pet?”
Crooks laughed again. “A guy can talk to you
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OF MICE AND MEN
an’ be sure you won’t go blabbin’. Couple of
weeks an’ them pups’ll be all right. George
knows what he’s about. Jus’ talks, an’ you don’t
understand nothing.” He leaned forward ex-
citedly. “This is just a nigger talkin’, an’ a
bustcd-back nigger. So it don’t mean nothing,
see? You couldn’t remember it anyways. 1 seen
it over an’ over— a guy talkin’ to another guy
and it don’t make no difference if he don’t hear
or understand. The thing is, they’re talkin’, or
they’re settin’ still not talkin’. It don’t make no
difference, no difference.” His excitement had
increased until he pounded his knee with this
hand. “George can tell you screwy things, and it
don’t matter. It’s just the talking. It’s just bein’
with another guy. That’s all.” He paused.
His voice grew soft and persuasive. “S’pose
George don’t come back no more. S’pose he
took a powder and just ain’t coming back.
What’ll you do then?”
Lennie’s attention came gradually to what had been said. “What?” he demanded.
X2 4
OF MICE AND MEN
“I said s’pose George went into town tonight
and you never heard of him no more.” Crooks
pressed forward some kind of private victory.
“Just s’pose that,” he repeated.
“He won’t do it,” Lennie cried. “George
wouldn’t do nothing like that. I been with
George a long time. He’ll come back to-
night — ” But the doubt was too much for him.
“Don’t you think he will?”
Crooks’ face lighted with pleasure in his tor-
ture. “Nobody can’t tell what a guy’ll do,” he
observed calmly. “Le’s say he wants to come
back and can’t. S’pose he gets killed or hurt so
he can’t come back.”
Lennie struggled to understand. “George
won’t do nothing like that,” he repeated.
“George is careful. He won’t get hurt. He ain’t
never been hurt, ’cause he’s careful.”
“Well, s’pose, jus’ s’pose he don’t come back. What’ll you do then?”
Lennie’s face wrinkled with apprehension. “I don’ know. Say, what you doin’ anyways?” he
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OF MICE AND MEN
cried. “This ain’t true. George ain’t got hurt.”
Crooks bored in on him. “Want me ta tell ya
what’ll happen? They’ll take ya to the booby
hatch. They’ll tie ya up with a collar, like a
dog.”
Suddenly Lennie’s eyes centered and grew
quiet, and inad. He stood up and walked danger-
ously toward Crooks. “Who hurt George?” he
demanded.
Crooks saw the danger as it approached him.
He edged back on his bunk to get out of the
way. “I was just supposin’,” he said. “George
ain’t hurt. He’s all right. He’ll be back all
right.”
Lennie stood over him. “What you supposin’
for? Ain’t nobody goin’ to suppose no hurt to
George.”
Crooks removed his glasses and wiped his eyes
with his fingers. “Jus’ set down,” he said.
“George ain’t hurt.”
Lennie growled back to his seat on the nail 126
OF MICE AND MEN
keg. “Ain’t nobody goin’ to talk no hurt to George,” he grumbled.
Crooks said gently, “Maybe you can see now.
You got George. You know he’s goin’ to come
• ^
back. S’pose you didn’t have nobody. S’pose you
couldn’t go into the bunk house and play
rummy ’cause you was black. How’d you like
that? S’pose you had to sit out here an’ read
books. Sure you could play horseshoes till it got
dark, but then you got to read books. Books
ain’t no good. A guy needs somebody— to be
near him.” He whined, “A guy goes nuts if he
ain’t got nobody. Don’t make no difference who
the guy is, long’s he’s with you. I tell ya,” he
cried, “I tell ya a guy gets too lonely an’ he gets
sick.”
“George gonna come back,” Lennie reassured
himself in a frightened voice. “Maybe George
come back already. Maybe I better go see.”
Crooks said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. He’ll come back. I was talkin’ about myself. A
«7
OF MICE AND MEN
guy sets alone out here at night, maybe readin’
books or thinkin’ or stuff like that. Sometimes
he gets thinkin’, an’ he got nothing to tell him
what’s so an’ what ain’t so. Maybe if he sees
somethin’, he don’t know whether it’s right or
not. He can’t turn to some other guy and ast
him if he sees it too. He can’t tell. He got noth-
ing to measure by. I seen things out here. I
wasn’t drunk. I don’t know if I was asleep. If
some guy was with me, he could tell me I was
asleep, an’ then it would be all right. But I jus’
don’t know.” Crooks was looking across the
room now, looking toward the window.
Lennie said miserably, “George wun’t go
away and leave me. I know George wun’t do
that.”
The stable buck went on dreamily, “I re-
member when I was a little kid on my old man’s
chicken ranch. Had two brothers. They was al-
ways near me, always there. Used to sleep right
in the same room, right in the same bed— all
three. Had a strawberry patch. Had an alfalfa
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OF MICE AND MEN
parch. Used to turn the chickens out in the
aifalfa on a sunny morning. My brothers’d set
on a fence rail an’ watch ’em— white chickens
they was.”
Gradually Lennie’s interest came around to
what was being said. “George says we’re gonna
have aifalfa for the rabbits.”
“What rabbits?”
“We’re gonna have rabbits an’ a berry patch.”
“You’re nuts.”
“We are too. You ast George.”
“You’re nuts.” Crooks was scornful. “I seen
hunderds of men come by on the road an’ on
the ranches, w T ith their bindles on their back an’
that same damn thing in their heads. Hunderds
of them. They come, an’ they quit an’ go on;
an’ every damn one of ’em’s got a little piece of
land in his head. An’ never a God damn one of
’em ever gets it. Just like heaven. Ever’body
wants a little piece of Ian*. I read plenty of
books out here. Nobody never gets to heaven,
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OF MICE AND MEN
and nobody gets no land. It’s just in their head.
They’re all the time talkin’ about it, but it’s jus’
in their head. He paused and looked toward the
open door, for the horses were moving restlessly
and the halter chains clinked. A horse whinnied.
“I guess somebody’s out there,” Crooks said.
“Maybe Slim. Slim comes in sometimes two,
three times a night. Slim’s a real skinner. He
looks out for his team.” He pulled himself pain-
fully upright and moved toward the door. “That
you. Slim?” he called.
Candy’s voice answered. “Slim went in town. Say, you seen Lennie?”
“Ya mean the big guy?”
“Yeah. Seen him around any place?”
“He’s in here,” Crooks said shortly. He went back to his bunk and lay down.
Candy stood in the doorway scratching his
bald wrist and looking blindly into the lighted
room. He made no attempt to enter. “Tell ya
what, Lennie. I been figuring out About them
rabbits.”
* 3 °
OF MICE AND MEN
Crooks said irritably, “You can come in if you want.”
Candy seemed embarrassed. “I do’ know. ’Course, if ya want me to.”
“Come on in. If ever’body’s cornin’ in, you
might just as well.” It was difficult for Crooks
to conceal his pleasure with anger.
Candy came in, but he was still embarrassed.
“You got a nice cozy little place in here,” he
said to Crooks. “Must be nice to have a room all
to yourself this way.”
“Sure,” said Crooks. “And a manure pile under the window. Sure, it’s swell.”
Lennie broke in, “You said about them rab- bits.”
Candy leaned against the wall beside the
broken collar while he scratched the wrist
stump. “I been here a long time,” he said. “An*
Crooks been here a long time. This’s the first
time I ever been in his room.”
Crooks said darkly, “Guys don’t come into a
colored man’s room very much. Nobody been
here but Slim. Slim an’ the boss.”
OF MICE AND MEN
Candy quickly changed the subject. “Slim’s as good a skinner as I ever seen.”
Lennic leaned toward the old swamper. “About them rabbits,” he insisted.
Candy smiled. “I got it figured out. We can
make some money on them rabbits if we go
about it right.”
“But I get to tend ’em,” Lennie broke in. “George says I get to tend ’em. He promised.”
Crooks interrupted brutally. “You guys is just
kiddin’ yourself. You’ll talk about it a hell of a
lot, but you won’t get no land. You’ll be a
swamper here till they take you out in a box.
Hell, I seen too many guys. Lennie here’ll quit
an’ be on the road in two, three weeks. Seems
like ever’ guy got land in his head.”
Candy rubbed his cheek angrily. “You God
damn right we’re gonna do it. George says we
are. We got the money right now.”
“Yeah?” said Crooks. “An’ where’s George
now? In town in a whore house. That’s where
your money’s goin’. Jesus, I seen it happen too
IJ2
OF MICE AND MEN
many times. I seen too many guys with land in
their head. They never get none under their
hand.”
Candy cried, “Sure they all want it. Every-
body wants a little bit of land, not much. Jus’
som’thin’ that was his. Som’thin’ he could live
on and there couldn’t nobody throw him off of
it. 1 never had none. I planted crops for damn
near ever’body in this state, but they wasn’t my
crops, and when I harvested ’em, it wasn’t none
of my harvest. But we gonna do it now, and
don’t you make no mistake about that. George
ain’t got the money in town. That money’s in
the bank. Me an’ Lennie an’ George. We gonna
have a room to ourself. We’re gonna have a
dog an’ rabbits an’ chickens. We’re gonna have
green corn an’ maybe a cow or a goat.” He
stopped, overwhelmed with his picture.
Crooks asked, “You say you got the money?”
“Damn right. We got most of it. Just a little
bit more to get. Have it all in one month.
George got the land all picked out, too.”
* 33
OF MICE AND MEN
Crooks reached around and explored his spine
with his hand. “I never seen a guy really do it,”
he said. “I seen guys nearly crazy with loneli-
ness for land, but ever’ time a whore house or a
blackjack game took what it takes.” He hesi-
tated. “ .... If you .... guys would want a
hand to work for nothing— just his keep, why
I’d come an’ lend a hand. I ain’t so crippled I
can’t work like a son-of-a-bitch if I want to.”
“Any you boys seen Curley?”
They swung their heads toward the door.
Looking in was Curley’s wife. Her face was
heavily made up. Her lips were slightly parted.
She breathed strongly, as though she had been
running.
“Curley ain’t been here,” Candy said sourly.
She stood still in the doorway, smiling a little
at them, rubbing the nails of one hand with the
thumb and forefinger of the other. And her eyes
traveled from one face to another. “They left
all the weak ones here,” she said finally. “Think
1 34
OF MICE AND MEN
I don’t know where they all went? Even Curley.
I know where they all went.”
Lennie watched her, fascinated; but Candy
and Crooks were scowling down away from her
eyes. Candy said, “Then if you know, why you
want to ast us where Curley is at?”
She regarded them amusedly. “Funny thing,”
she said. “If I catch any one man, and he’s alone,
I get along line with him. But just let two of
the guys get together an’ you won’t talk. Jus’
nothing but mad.” She dropped her fingers and
put her hands on her hips. “You’re all scared
of each other, that’s what. Ever’ one of you’s
scared the rest is goin’ to get something on
you.”
After a pause Crooks said, “Maybe you better
go along to your own house now. We don’t
want no trouble.”
“Well, I ain’t giving you no trouble. Think
I don’t like to talk to somebody ever’ once in a
while? Think I like to stick in that house alia
time?”
*35
OF MICE AND MEN
Candy laid the stump of his wrist on his knee
and rubbed it gently with his hand. He said
accusingly, “You gotta husban’. You got no call
foolin’ aroun’ with other guys, causin’ trouble.”
The girl flared up. “Sure I gotta husban’. You
all seen him. Swell guy, ain’t he? Spends all his
time sayin’ what he’s gonna do to guys he don’t
like, and he don’t like nobody. Think I’m gonna
stay in that two-by-four house and listen how
Curley’s gonna lead with his left twict, and then
bring in the ol’ right cross? ‘One-two’ he says.
‘Jus the ol’ one-two an’ he’ll go down.’ ” She
paused and her face lost its sullenncss and grew
interested. “Say— what happened to Curley’s
han’?”
There was an embarrassed silence. Candy stole
a look at Lcnnie. Then he coughed. “Why
.... Curley .... he got his han’ caught in a
machine, ma’am. Bust his han’.”
She watched for a moment, and then she
laughed. “Baloney! What you think you’re sell-
in’ me? Curley started som’pin’ he didn’ finish.
i?6
OF MICE AND MEN
Caught in a machine— baloney! Why, he ain’t
give nobody the good ol’ one-two since he got
his han’ bust. Who bust him?”
Candy repeated sullenly, “Got it caught in a machine.”
“Awright,” she said contemptuously. “Aw-
right, cover ’im up if ya wanta. Whatta l care?
You bindlc bums think you’re so damn good.
Whatta ya think I am, a kid? I tell ya I could
of went with shows. Not jus’ one, neither. An’
a guy toP me he could put me in pitchers. . .
She was breathless with indignation. “— Sat’iday
night. Ever’bodv out doin’ som’pin’. Ever’body!
An’ what am I doin’? Standin’ here talkin’ to a
bunch of bindle stiffs— a nigger an’ a dum-dum
and a lousy ol’ sheep— an’ likin’ it because they
ain’t nobody else.”
Lennie watched her, his mouth half open.
Crooks had retired into the terrible protective
dignity of the negro. But a change came over
old Candy. He stood up suddenly and knocked
his nail keg over backward. “I had enough,” he
H7
OF MICE AND MEN
said angrily. “You ain’t wanted here. We told
you you ain’t. An’ I tell ya, you got floozy
idears about what us guys amounts to. You ain’t
got sense enough in that chicken head to even
see that we ain’t stiffs. S’pose you get us canned.
S’pose you do. You think we’ll hit the highway
an’ look for another lousy two-bit job like this.
You don’t know that we got our own ranch to
go to, an’ our own house. We ain’t got to stay
here. We gotta house and chickens an’ fruit trees
an’ a place a hunderd time prettier than this.
An’ we got fren’s, that’s what we got. Maybe
there was a time when we was scared of gcttin’
canned, but we ain’t no more. We got our own
lan’, and it’s ours, an’ we c’n go to it.”
Curley’s wife laughed at him. “Baloney,” she
said. “I seen too many you guys. If you had
two bits in the worl’, why you’d be in gettin’
two shots of corn with it and suckin’ the bottom
of the glass. I know you guys.”
Candy’s face had grown redder and redder,
but before she was done speaking, he had con-
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OF MICE AND MEN
trol of himself. He was the master of the situa-
tion. “I might of knew,” he said gently. “Maybe
you just better go along an’ roll your hoop. We
ain’t got nothing to say to you at all. We know
what we got, and we don’t care whether you
know it or not. So maybe you better jus’ scatter
along now, ’cause Curley maybe ain’t gonna like
his wife out in the bam with us ‘bindle stiffs.’ ”
She looked from one face to another, and they
were all closed against her. And she looked
longest at Lennie, until he dropped his eyes in
embarrassment. Suddenly she said, “Where’d
you get them bruises on your face?”
Lennie looked up guiltily. “Who— me?”
“Yeah, you.”
Lennie looked to Candy for help, and then
he looked at his lap again. “He got his han’
caught in a machine,” he said.
Curley’s wife laughed. “O.K., Machine. I’ll talk to you later. I like machines.”
Candy broke in. “You let this guy alone.
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OF MICE AND MEN
Don’t you do no messing aroun’ with him. I’m
gonna tell George what you says. George won’t
have you messin’ with Lennie.”
“Who’s George?” she asked. “The little guy you come with?”
Lennie smiled happily. “That’s him,” he said.
“That’s the guy, an’ he’s gonna let me tend the
rabbits.”
“Well, if that’s all you want, I might get a couple rabbits myself.”
Crooks stood up from his bunk and faced her.
“I had enough,” he said coldly. “You got no
rights cornin’ in a colored man’s room. You got
no rights messing around in here at all. Now
you jus' get out, an’ get out quick. If you don’t,
I’m gonna ast the boss not to ever let you come
in the bam no more.”
She turned on him in scorn. “Listen, Nigger,”
she said. “You know what I can do to you if you
open your trap?”
Crooks stared hopelessly at her, and then he sat down on his bunk and drew into himself.
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OF MICE AND MEN
She closed on him. “You know what I could do?”
Crooks seemed to grow smaller, and he pressed himself against the wall. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, you keep your place then, Nigger. I
could get you strung up on a tree so easy it ain’t
even funny.”
Crooks had reduced himself to nothing. There
was no personality, no ego— nothing to arouse
either like or dislike. He said, “Yes, ma’am,” and
his voice was toneless.
For a moment she stood over him as though
waiting for him to move so that she could whip
at him again; but Crooks sat perfectly still, his
eyes averted, everything that might be hurt
drawn in. She turned at last to the other two.
Old Candy was watching her, fascinated. “If
you was to do that, we’d tell,” he said quietly.
“We’d tell about you framin’ Crooks.”
“Tell an’ be damned,” she cried. “Nobody’d
listen to you, an’ you know it. Nobody’d listen
to you.”
OF MICE AND MEN
Candy subsided. “No . . . he agreed. “No- body ’d listen to us.”
Lennie whined, “I wisht George was here. I wisht George was here.”
Candy stepped over to him. “Don’t you worry
none,” he said. “I jus’ heard the guys cornin’
in. George’ll be in the bunk house right now, I
bet.” He turned to Curley’s wife. “You better
go home now,” he said quietly. “If you go right
now, we won’t tell Curley you was here.”
She appraised him coolly. “I ain’t sure you heard nothing.”
“Better not take no chances,” he said. “If you ain’t sure, you better take the safe way.”
She turned to Lennie. “I’m glad you bust up
Curley a little bit. He got it cornin’ to him.
Sometimes I’d like to bust him myself.” She
slipped out the door and disappeared into the
dark bam. And while she went through the
bam, the halter chains rattled, and some horses
snorted and some stamped their feet.
Crooks seemed to come slowly out of the lay- 142
OF MICE AND MEN
ers of protection he had put on. “Was that the
truth what you said about the guys come back?”
he asked.
“Sure. I heard ’em.”
“Well, I didn’t hear nothing.”
“The gate banged,” Candy said, and he went
on, “Jesus Christ, Curley’s wife can move quiet.
I guess she had a lot of practice, though.”
Crooks avoided the whole subject now.
“Maybe you guys better go,” he said. “I ain’t
sure I want you in here no more. A colored man
got to have some rights even if he don’t like ’em.”
Candy said, “That bitch didn’t ought to of said that to you.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” Crooks said dully. “You
guys cornin’ in an’ settin’ made me forget. What
she says is true.”
The horses snorted out in the bam and the
chains rang and a voice called, “Lennie. Oh,
Lennie. You in the barn?”
“It’s George,” Lennie cried. And he an- swered, “Here, George. I’m right in here.”
H3
OF MICE AND MEN
In a second George stood framed in the door,
and he looked disapprovingly about. “What you
doin’ in Crooks’ room. You hadn’t ought to be
here.”
Crooks nodded. “I toF ’em, but they come in anyways.”
“Well, why ’n’t you kick ’em out?”
“I di’n’t care much,” said Crooks. “Lennie’s a nice fella.”
Now Candy aroused himself. “Oh, George! I
been figurin’ and figurin’. I got it doped out how
we can even make some money on them rab-
bits.”
George scowled. “I thought I tol’ you not to tell nobody about that.”
Candy was crestfallen. “Didn’t tell nobody but Crooks.”
George said, “Well you guys get outta here. Jesus, seems like I can’t go away for a minute.”
Candy and Lennie stood up and went toward the door. Crooks called, “Candy!”
“Huh?”
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OF MICE AND MEN
“ ’Member what I said about hoein’ and doin’ odd jobs?”
“Yeah,” said Candy. “I remember.”
“Well, jus’ forget it,” said Crooks. “I didn’
mean it. Jus’ foolin’. 1 wouldn’ want to go no
place like that.”
“Well, O.K., if you feel like that. Good- night.”
The three men went out of the door. As they
went through the barn the horses snorted and
the halter chains rattled.
Crooks sat on his bunk and looked at the
door for a moment, and then he reached for the
liniment bottle. He pulled out his shirt in back,
poured a little liniment in his pink palm and,
reaching around, he fell slowly to rubbing his
back.
5
ONE end of the great bam was piled high with
new hay and over the pile hung the four-taloned
jackson fork suspended from its pulley. The hay
came down like a mountain slope to the other
end of the bam, and there was a level place as
yet unfilled with the new crop. At the sides the
feeding racks were visible, and between the slats
the heads of horses could be seen.
It was Sunday afternoon. The resting horses
nibbled the remaining wisps of hay, and they
stamped their feet and they bit the wood of the
mangers and rattled the halter chains. The after-
noon sun sliced in through the cracks of the
bam walls and lay in bright lines on the hay.
There was the buzz of flies in the air, the lazy
afternoon humming.
146
OF MICE AND MEN
From outside came the clang of horseshoes on
the playing peg and the shouts of men, playing,
encouraging, jeering. But in the bam it was quiet
and humming and lazy and warm.
Only Lennie was in the barn, and Lennic sat
in the hay beside a packing case under a manger
in the end of the barn that had not been filled
with hay. Lennie sat in the hay and looked at a
little dead puppy that lay in front of him. Len-
nie looked at it for a long time, and then he put
out his huge hand and stroked it, stroked it clear
from one end to the other.
And Lennie said softly to the puppy, “Why
do you got to get killed? You ain’t so little as
mice. I didn’t bounce you hard.” He bent the
pup’s head up and looked in its face, and he said
to it, “Now maybe George ain’t gonna let me
tend no rabbits, if he fin’s out you got killed.”
He scooped a little hollow and laid the
puppy in it and covered it over with hay, out of
sight; but he continued to stare at the mound he
had made. He said, “This ain’t no bad thing like
OF MICE AND MEN
I got to go hide in the brush. Oh! no. This ain’t.
I’ll tell George I foun’ it dead.”
He unburied the puppy and inspected it, and
he stroked it from ears to tail. He went on sor-
rowfully, “But he’ll know. George always
knows. He’ll say, ‘You done it. Don’t try to put
nothing over on me.’ An’ he’ll say, ‘Now jus’ for
that you don’t get to tend no rabbits!’ ”
Suddenly his anger arose. “God damn you,”
he cried. “Why do you got to get killed? You
ain’t so little as mice.” He picked up the pup and
hurled it from him. He turned his back on it. He
sat bent over his knees and he whispered, “Now
I won’t get to tend the rabbits. Now he won’t
let me.” He rocked himself back and forth in his
sorrow.
From outside came the clang of horseshoes on
the iron stake, and then a little chorus of cries.
Lennie got up and brought the puppy back and
laid it on the hay and sat down. He stroked the
pup again. “You wasn’t big enough,” he said.
“They tol’ me and toP me you wasn’t. I di’n’t
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OF MICE AND MEN
know you’d get killed so easy.” He worked his
fingers on the pup’s limp car. “Maybe George
won’t care,” he said. “ This here God damn lit-
tle son-of-a-bitch wasn’t nothing to George.”
Ciurley’s wife came around the end of the
last stall. She came very quietly, so that Lennie
didn’t see her. She wore her bright cotton dress
and the mules with the red ostrich feathers. Her
face was made up and the little sausage curls
were all in place. She was quite near to him
before Lennie looked up and saw her.
In a panic he shoveled hay over the puppy with his fingers. He looked sullenly up at her.
She said, “What you got there, sonny boy?”
Lennie glared at her. “George says I ain’t to
have nothing to do with you— talk to you or
nothing.”
She laughed. “George giving you orders about everything?”
Lennie looked down at the hay. “Says I can’t tend no rabbits if I talk to you or anything.”
She said quietly, “He’s scared Curley ’ll get
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OF MICE AND MEN
mad. Well, Curley got his arm in a sling— an’ if
Curley gets tough, you can break his other han\
You didn’t put nothing over on me about gettin’
it caught in no machine.”
But Lennie was not to be drawn. “No, sir. I ain’t gonna talk to you or nothing.”
She knelt in the hay beside him. “Listen,” she
said. “All the guys got a horseshoe tenement
goin’ on. It’s on’y about four o’clock. None of
them guys is goin’ to leave that tenement. Why
can’t I talk to you? I never get to talk to no-
body. I get awful lonely.”
Lennie said, “Well, I ain’t supposed to talk to you or nothing.”
“I get lonely,” she said. “You can talk to
people, but I can’t talk to nobody but Curley.
Else he gets mad. How’d you like not to talk to
anybody?”
Lennie said, “Well, I ain’t supposed to. George’s scared I’ll get in trouble.”
She changed the subject. “What you got cov- ered up there?”
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OF MICE AND MEN
Then all of Lennie’s woe came back on him.
“Jus’ my pup,” he said sadly. “Jus’ my little
pup.” And he swept the hay from on top of it.
“Why, he’s dead,” she cried.
“He was so little,” said Lennie. “I was jus’
playin’ with him .... an’ he made like he’s
gonna bite me .... an’ I made like I was gonna
smack him .... an’ .... an’ I done it. An’ then
he was dead.”
She consoled him. “Don’t you worry none.
He was jus’ a mutt. You can get another one
easy. The whole country is fulla mutts.”
“It ain’t that so much,” Lennie explained
miserably. “George ain’t gonna let me tend no
rabbits now.”
“Why don’t he?”
“Well, he said if I done any more bad things he ain’t gonna let me tend the rabbits.”
She moved closer to him and she spoke sooth-
ingly. “Don’t you worry about talkin’ to me.
Listen to the guys yell out there. They got four
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OF MICE AND MEN
dollars bet in that tenement. None of them ain’t gonna leave till it’s over.”
“If George sees me talkin’ to you he’ll give me hell,” Lennie said cautiously. “He tol’ me so.”
Her face grew angry. “Wha’s the matter with
me?” she cried. “Ain’t I got a right to talk :o
nobody? Whatta they think I am, anyways?
You’re a nice guy. I don’t know why I can’t
talk to you. I ain’t doin’ no harm to you.”
“Well, George says you’ll get us in a mess.”
“Aw, nuts!” she said. “What kinda harm am
I doin’ to you? Seems like they ain’t none of
them cares how I gotta live. I tell you I ain’t
used to livin’ like this. I coulda made somethin’
of myself.” She said darkly, “Maybe I will - - u
And then her words tumbled out in a passic^'
communication, as though she hurried before t0
listener could be taken away. “I lived righ,
Salinas,” she said. “Come there when I wa?*
kid. Well, a show come through, an’ I met one
of the actors. He says I could go with that show.
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OF MICE AND MEN
But my oP lady wouldn’ let me. She says be-
cause I was on’y fifteen. But the guy says I
coulda. If I’d went, I wouldn’t be livin’ like this,
you bet.”
Lennie stroked the pup back and forth. “We
goi.na have a little place— an’ rabbits,” he ex-
plained.
She went on with her story quickly, before
she should be interrupted. “ ’Nother time I met
a guy, an’ he was in pitchers. Went out to the
Riverside Dance Palace with him. He says he
was gonna put me in the movies. Says I was a
natural. Soon’s he got back to Hollywood he
was gonna write to me about it.” She looked
rabL-ly at Lennie to sec whether she was im-
“Wig him. “I never got that letter,” she said.
“Ways thought my oP lady stole it. Well, I he a.’t gonna stay no place where I couldn’t get
Shere or make something of myself, an’
Jtnere they stole your letters. I ast her if she
stole it, too, an’ she says no. So I married Cur-
ley. Met him out to the Riverside Dance Palace
*53
OF MICE AND MEN
that same night.” She demanded, “You lis- tenin’?”
“Me? Sure.”
“Well, I ain’t told this to nobody before.
Maybe I ought’n to. I don’ like Curley. He ain’t
a nice fella.” And because she had confided in
him, she moved closer to Lennie and sat beside
him. “Coulda been in the movies, an’ had nice
clothes— all them nice clothes like they wear. An’
I coulda sat in them big hotels, an’ had pitchers
took of me. When they had them previews I
coulda went to them, an’ spoke in the radio, an’
it wouldn’ta cost me a cent because I was in the
pitcher. An’ all them nice clothes like they wear.
Because this guy says I was a natural.” She
looked up at Lennie, and she made a small grand
gesture with her arm and hand to show that she
could act. The fingers trailed after her leading
wrist, and her little finger stuck out grandly
from the rest.
Lennie sighed deeply. From outside came the
clang of a horseshoe on metal, and then a chorus
*54
OF MICE AND MEN
of cheers. “Somebody made a ringer,” said Cur- ley’s wife.
Now the light was lifting as the sun went
down, and the sun streaks climbed up the wall
and fell over the feeding racks and over the
heads of the horses.
Lennie said, “Maybe if I took this pup out and
throwed him away George wouldn’t never
know. An’ then I could tend the rabbits with-
out no trouble.”
Curley’s wife said angrily, “Don’t you think of nothing but rabbits?”
“We gonna have a little place,” Lennie ex-
plained patiently. “We gonna have a house an’
a garden and a place for alfalfa, an’ that alfalfa
is for the rabbits, an’ I take a sack and get it all
fulla alfalfa and then 1 take it to the rabbits.”
She asked, “What makes you so nuts about rabbits?”
Lennie had to think carefully before he could
come to a conclusion. He moved cautiously
close to her, until he was right against her. “I
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OF MICE AND MEN
like to pet nice things. Once at a fair I seen some
of them long-hair rabbits. An’ they was nice,
you bet. Sometimes I’ve even pet mice, but not
when I could get nothing better.”
Curley’s wife moved away from him a little. “I think you’re nuts,” she said.
“No I ain’t,” Lennie explained earnestly.
“George says I ain’t. I like to pet nice things
with my fingers, sof’ things.”
She was a little bit reassured. “Well, who
don’t?” she said. “Evcr’body likes that. I like to
feel silk an’ velvet. Do you like to feel velvet?”
Lennie chuckled with pleasure. “You bet, by
God,” he cried happily. “An’ I had some, too.
A lady give me some, an’ that lady was— my
own Aunt Clara. She give it right to me— ’bout
this big a piece. I wisht I had that velvet right
now.” A frown came over his face. “I lost it,”
he said. “I ain’t seen it for a long time.”
Curley’s wife laughed at him. “You’re nuts,”
she said. “But you’re a kinda nice fella. Jus’ like
a big baby. But a person can see kinda what you
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OF MICE AND MEN
mean. When I’m doin’ my hair sometimes I jus’
set an’ stroke it ’cause it’s so soft.” To show how
she did it, she ran her fingers over the top of her
head. “Some people got kinda coarse hair,” she
said complacently. “Take Curley. His hair is
jus’ like wire. But mine is soft and fine. ’Course
I brush it a lot. That makes it fine. Here— feel
right here.” She took Lennie’s hand and put it on
her head. “Feel right aroun’ there an’ see how
soft it is.”
Lennie’s big fingers fell to stroking her hair.
“Don’t you muss it up,” she said.
Lennie said, “Oh! That’s nice,” and he stroked harder. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“Look out, now, you’ll muss it.” And then
she cried angrily, “You stop it now, you’ll mess
it all up.” She jerked her head sideways, and
Lennie’s fingers closed on her hair and hung on.
“Let go,” she cried. “You let go!”
Lennie was in a panic. His face was contorted.
She screamed then, and Lennie’s other hand
closed over her mouth and nose. “Please don’t,”
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OF MICE AND MEN
he begged. “Oh! Please don’t do that. George’ll be mad.”
She struggled violently under his hands. Her
feet battered on the hay and she writhed to be
free; and from under Lennie’s hand came a
muffled screaming. Lennie began to cry with
fright. “Oh! Please don’t do none of that,” he
begged. “George gonna say I done a bad thing.
He ain’t gonna let me tend no rabbits.” He
moved his hand a little and her hoarse cry came
out. Then Lennie grew angry. “Now don’t,” he
said. “I don’t want you to yell. You gonna get
me in trouble jus’ like George says you will.
Now don’t you do that.” And she continued to
struggle, and her eyes were wild with terror.
He shook her then, and he was angry with her.
“Don’t you go yellin’,” he said, and he shook
her; and her body flopped like a fish. And then
she was still, for Lennie had broken her neck.
He looked down at her, and carefully he re-
moved his hand from over her mouth, and she
lay still. “I don’t want ta hurt you,” he said, “but
OF MICE AND MEN
George’ll be mad if you yell.” When she didn’t
answer nor move he bent closely over her. He
lifted her arm and let it drop. For a moment he
seemed bewildered. And then he whispered in
fright, “I done a bad thing. I done another bad
thing.”
He pawed up the hay until it partly covered her.
From outside the barn came a cry of men and
the double clang of shoes on metal. For the first
time Lennie became conscious of the outside.
He crouched down in the hay and listened. “I
done a real bad thing,” he said. “I shouldn’t of
did that. George’ll be mad. An’ .... he said . . . .
an’ hide in the brush till he come. He’s gonna be
mad. In the brush till he come. Tha’s what he
said.” Lennie went back and looked at the dead
girl. The puppy lay close to her. Lennie picked
it up. “I’ll throw him away,” lie said. “It’s bad
enough like it is.” He put the pup under his
coat, and he crept to the bam wall and peered
out between the cracks, toward the horseshoe
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OF MICE AND MEN
game. And then he crept around the end of the last manger and disappeared.
The sun streaks were high on the wall by
now, and the light was growing soft in the
barn. Curley’s wife lay on her back, and she was
half covered with hay.
It was very quiet in the bam, and the quiet of
the afternoon was on the ranch. Even the clang
of the pitched shoes, even the voices of the men
in the game seemed to grow more quiet. The air
in the bam was dusky in advance of the outside
day. A pigeon flew in through the open hay
door and circled and flew out again. Around the
last stall came a shepherd bitch, lean and long,
with heavy, hanging dugs. Halfway to the pack-
ing box where the puppies were she caught the
dead scent of Curley’s wife, and the hair arose
along her spine. She whimpered and cringed to
the packing box, and jumped in among the pup-
pies.
Curley’s wife lay with a half-covering of yel-
low hay. And the meanness and the plannings
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OF MICE AND MEN
and the discontent and the ache for attention
were all gone from her face. She was very pretty
and simple, and her face was sweet and young.
Now her rouged checks and her reddened lips
made her seem alive and sleeping very lightly.
The curls, tiny little sausages, were spread on
the hay behind her head, and her lips were
parted.
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and
hovered and remained for much more than a
moment. And sound stopped and movement
6topped for much, much more than a moment.
Then gradually time awakened again and
moved sluggishly on. The horses stamped on the
other side of the feeding racks and the halter
chains clinked. Outside, the mens’ voices be-
came louder and clearer.
From around the end of the last stall old
Candy’s voice came. “Lennie,” he called. “Oh,
Lemuel You in here? I been figuring some more.
Tell you what we can do, Lennie.” Old Candy
appeared around the end of the last stall. “Oh,
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OF MICE AND MEN
Lennie!” he called again; and then he stopped,
and his body stiffened. He rubbed his smooth
wrist on his white stubble whiskers. “I di’n’t
know you was here,” he said to Curley’s wife.
When she didn’t answer, he stepped nearer.
“You oughten to sleep out here,” he said dis-
approvingly; and then he was beside her and—
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” He looked about helplessly,
and he rubbed his beard. And then he jumped
up and went quickly out of the bam.
But the barn was alive now. Hie horses
stamped and snorted, and they chewed the straw
of their bedding and they clashed the chains of
their halters. In a moment Candy came back,
and George was with him.
George said, “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
Candy pointed at Curley’s wife. George
stared. “What’s the matter with her?” he
asked. He stepped closer, and then he echoed
Candy’s words. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” He was
down on his knees beside her. He put his hand
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OF MICE AND MEN
over her heart. And finally, when he stood up,
slowly and stiffly, his face was as hard and tight
as wood, and his eyes were hard.
Candy said, “What done it?”
George looked coldly at him. “Ain’t you got
any idcar?” he asked. And Candy was silent. “1
should of knew,” George said hopelessly. “I
guess maybe way back in my head I did.”
Candy asked, “What we gonna do now', George. What we gonna do now?”
George was a long time in answering. “Guess
. . . . we gotta tell the .... guys. I guess we gotta
get ’im an’ lock ’im up. We can’t let ’im get
away. Why, the poor bastard’d starve.” And he
tried to reassure himself. “Maybe they’ll lock ’im
up an’ be nice to ’im.”
But Candy said excitedly, “We oughtta let ’im
get away. You don’t know that Curley. Curley
gon’ta wanta get ’im lynched. Curley’ll get ’im
killed.”
George watched Candy’s lips. “Yeah,” he said at last, “that’s right, Curley will. An’ the other
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OF MICE AND MEN
guys will.” And he looked back at Curley’s wife.
Now Candy spoke his greatest fear. “You an’
me can get that little place, can’t we, George?
You an’ me can go there an’ live nice, can’t we,
George? Can’t we?”
Before George answered, Candy dropped his
head and looked down at the hay. He knew.
*
George said softly, “—I think I knowed from
the very first. I think I knowed we’d never do
her. He usta like to hear about it so much I got
to thinking maybe we would.”
“Then— it’s all off?” Candy asked sulkily.
George didn’t answer his question. George
said, “I’ll work my month an’ I’ll take my fifty
bucks an’ I’ll stay all night in some lousy cat
house. Or I’ll set in some poolroom till ever’-
body goes home. An’ then I’ll come back an’
work another month an’ I’ll have fifty bucks
more.”
Candy said, “He’s such a nice fella. I didn’ think he’d do nothing like this.”
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OF MICE AND MEN
George still stared at Curley’s wife. “Lennie
never done it in meanness,” he said. “All the
time he done bad things, but he never done one
of ’em mean.” He straightened up and looked
back at Candy. “Now listen. We gotta tell the
guys. They got to bring him in, I guess. They
ain’t no way out. Maybe they won’t hurt ’im.”
He said sharply, “I ain’t gonna let ’em hurt Len-
nie. Now you listen. The guys might think I
was in on it. I’m gonna go in the bunk house.
Then in a minute you come out and tell the guys
about her, and I’ll come along and make like I
never seen her. Will you do that? So the guys
won’t think 1 was in on it?”
Candy said, “Sure, George. Sure I’ll do that.”
“O.K. Give me a couple minutes then, and
you come runnin’ out an’ tell like you jus’ found
her. I’m going now.” George turned and went
quickly out of the barn.
Old Candy watched him go. He looked help-
lessly back at Curley’s wife, and gradually his
sorrow and his anger grew into words. “You
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OF MICE AND MEN
God damn tramp,” he said viciously. “You done
it, di’n’t you? I s’pose you’re glad. Ever’body
knowed you’d mess things up. You wasn’t no
good. You ain’t no good now, you lousy tart.”
He sniveled, and his voice shook. “1 could of
hoed in the garden and washed dishes for them
guys.” lie paused, and then went on in a sing-
song. And he repeated the old words: “If they
was a circus or a baseball game .... wc would
of went to her .... jus’ said ‘ta hell with work,’
an’ went to her. Never ast nobody’s say so. An’
they’d of been a pig and chickens .... an’ in the
winter .... the little fat stove .... an’ the rain
cornin’ .... an’ us jus’ settin’ there.” His eyes
blinded with tears and he turned and went
weakly out of the barn, and he rubbed his
bristly whiskers with his wrist stump.
Outside the noise of the game stopped. There
was a rise of voices in question, a drum of run-
ning feet and the men burst into the bam. Slim
and Carlson and young Whit and Curley, and
Crooks keeping back out of attention range.
1 66
OF MICE AND MEN
Candy came after them, and last of all came
George. George had put on his blue denim coat
and buttoned it, and his black hat was pulled
down low over his eyes. The men raced around
the last stall. Their eyes found Curley’s wife in
the gloom, they stopped and stood still and
looked.
Then Slim went quietly over to her, and he
felt her wrist. One lean finger touched her
cheek, and then his hand went under her slightly
twisted neck and his fingers explored her neck.
When he stood up the men crowded near and
the spell was broken.
Curley came suddenly to life. “I know who
done it,” he cried. “That big son-of-a-bitch
done it. I know he done it. Why— ever’body else
was out there playin’ horseshoes.” He worked
himself into a fury. “I’m gonna get him. I’m
going for my shot gun. I’ll kill the big son-of-a-
bitch myself. I’ll shoot ’im in the guts. Come on,
you guys.” He ran furiously out of the bam.
Carlson said, “I’ll get my Luger,” and he ran
OF MICE AND MEN
Slim turned quietly to George. “I guess Len-
nie done it, all right,” he said. “Her neck’s bust.
Lennie coulda did that.”
George didn’t answer, but he nodded slowly.
His hat was so far down on his forehead that his
eyes were covered.
Slim went on, “Maybe like that time in Weed you was tellin’ about.”
Again George nodded.
Slim sighed. “Well, I guess we got to get him. Where you think he might of went?”
It semed to take George some time to free his
words. “He— would of went south,” he said.
“We come from north so he would of went
south.”
“I guess we gotta get ’im,” Slim repeated.
George stepped close. “Couldn’ we maybe
bring him in an’ they’ll lock him up? He’s nuts,
Slim. He never done this to be mean.”
Slim nodded. “We might,” he said. “If we
could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley’s
gonna want to shoot ’im. Curley’s still mad
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OF MICE AND MEN
about his hand. An’ s’pose they lock him up an*
strap him down and put him in a cage. That
ain’t no good, George.”
“I know,” said George, “I know.”
Carlson came running in. “The bastard’s stole
my Luger,” he shouted. “It ain’t in my bag.”
Curley followed him, and Curley carried a shot-
gun in his good hand. Curley was cold now.
“All right, you guys,” he said. “The nigger’s
got a shotgun. You take it, Carlson. When you
see ’um, don’t give ’im no chance. Shoot for his
guts. That’ll double ’im over.”
Whit said excitedly, “I ain’t got a gun.”
Curley said, “You go in Soledad an’ get a cop.
Get A1 Wilts, he’s deputy sheriff. Le’s go now.”
He turned suspiciously on George. “You’re
cornin’ with us, fella.”
“Yeah,” said George. “I’ll come. But listen,
Curley. The poor bastard’s nuts. Don’t shoot
’im. He di’n’t know what he was doin’.”
“Don’t shoot ’im?” Curley cried. “He got Carlson’s Luger. ’Course we’ll shoot ’im.”
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George said weakly, “Maybe Carlson lost his gun.”
“I seen it this morning,” said Carlson. “No, it’s been took.”
Slim stood looking down at Curley’s wife. He
said, “Curley— maybe you better stay here with
your wife.”
Curley’s face reddened. “I’m goin’,” he said.
“I’m gonna shoot the guts outa that big bastard
myself, even if I only got one hand. I’m gonna
get ’im.”
Slim turned to Candy. “You stay here with
her then. Candy. The rest of us better get
goin’.”
They moved away. George stopped a moment
beside Candy and they both looked down at the
dead girl until Curley called, “You George!
You stick with us so we don’t think you had
nothin’ to do with this.”
George moved slowly after them, and his feet dragged heavily.
And when they were gone, Candy squatted
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OF MICE AND MEN
down in the hay and watched the face of Cur- ley’s wife. “Poor bastard,” he said softly.
The sound of the men grew 7 fainter. The barn
w 7 as darkening gradually and, in their stalls, the
horses shifted their feet and rattled the halter
chains. Old Candy lay down in the hay and cov-
ered his eyes with his arm.
6
THE deep green pool of the Salinas River was
still in the late afternoon. Already the sun had
left the valley to go climbing up the slopes of
the Gabilan mountains, and the hilltops were
rosy in the sun. But by the pool among the
mottled sycamores, a pleasant shade had fallen.
A water snake glided smoothly up the pool,
twisting its periscope head from side to side; and
it swam the length of the pool and came to the
legs of a motionless heron that stood in the shal-
lows. A silent head and beak lanced down and
plucked it out by the head, and the beak swal-
lowed the little snake while its tail waved fran-
tically.
A far rush of wind sounded and a gust drove
through the tops of the trees like a wave. The
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OF MICE AND MEN
sycamore leaves turned up their silver sides, the
brown, dry leaves on the ground scudded a few
feet. And row on row of tiny wind waves
flowed up the pool’s green surface.
As quickly as it had come, the wind died, and
the clearing was quiet again. The heron stood in
the shallows, motionless and waiting. Another
little water snake swam up the pool, turning its
periscope head from side to side.
Suddenly Lcnnic appeared out of the brush,
and he came as silently as a creeping bear moves.
The heron pounded the air with its wings,
jacked itself clear of the water and flew off
down river. The little snake slid in among the
reeds at the pool’s side.
Lennie came quietly to the pool’s edge. He
knelt down and drank, barely touching his lips
to the water. When a little bird skittered over
the dry leaves behind him, his head jerked up
and he strained toward the sound with eyes and
ears until he saw the bird, and then he dropped
his head and drank again.
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OF MICE AND MEN
When he was finished, he sat down on the
bank, with his side to the pool, so that he could
watch the trail’s entrance. He embraced his
knees and laid his chin down on his knees.
The light climbed on out of the valley, and as
it went, the tops of the mountains seemed to
blaze with increasing brightness.
Lennie said softly, “1 di’n’r forget, you bet,
God damn. Hide in the brush an’ wait for
George.” He pulled his hat down low over his
eyes. “George gonna give me hell,” he said.
“George gonna wish he was alone an’ not have
me botherin’ him.” He turned his head and
looked at the bright mountain tops. “I can go
right ofF there an’ find a cave,” he said. And he
continued sadly, “—an’ never have no ketchup—
but I won’t care. If George don’t want me ... .
I’ll go away. I’ll go away.”
And then from out of Lennie’s head there
came a little fat old woman. She wore thick
bull’s-eye glasses and she wore a huge gingham
apron with pockets, and she was starched and
*74
OF MICE AND MEN
clean. She stood in front of Lennie and put her
hands on her hips, and she frowned disapprov-
ingly at him.
And when she spoke, it was in Lennie’s voice.
“I tol’ you an' tol’ you,” she said. “I toF you,
‘Min’ George because he’s such a nice fella an’
good to you.’ But you don’t never take no care.
You do bad things.”
And Lennie answered her, “I tried. Aunt
Clara, ma’am. I tried and tried. 1 couldn’
help it.”
‘‘You never give a thought to George,” she
went on in Lennie’s voice. “He been doin’ nice
things for you alia time. When he got a piece a
pie you always got half or more’n half. An’ if
they was any ketchup, why he’d give it all to
you.”
“I know,” said Lennie miserably. “I tried, Aunt Clara, ma’am. I tried and tried.”
She interrupted him. “All the time he coulda
had such a good time if it wasn’t for you. He
woulda took his pay an’ raised hell in a whore
1 75
OF MICE AND MEN
house, and he coulda set in a pool room an* played snooker. But he got to take care of you.”
Lennie moaned with grief. “I know, Aunt
Clara, ma’am. I’ll go right off in the hills an’ I’ll
fin’ a cave an’ I’ll live there so I won’t be no
more trouble to George.”
“You jus’ say that,” she said sharply. “You’re
always sayin’ that, an’ you know sonofabitching
well you ain’t never gonna do it. You’ll jus’ stick
around an’ stew the b’Jcsus outa George all the
time.”
Lennie said, “I might jus’ as well go away. George ain’t gonna let me tend no rabbits now.”
Aunt Clara was gone, and from out of Len-
nie’s head there came a gigantic rabbit. It sat on
its haunches in front of him, and it waggled its
ears and crinkled its nose at him. And it spoke in
Lennie’s voice too.
“Tend rabbits,” it said scornfully. “You crazy
bastard. You ain’t fit to lick the boots of no rab-
bit. You’d forget ’em and let ’em go hungry.
That’s what you’d do. An’ then what would
George think?”
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OF MICE AND MEN
“I would not forget,” Lennie said loudly.
“The hell you wouldn’,” said the rabbit. “You
ain’t worth a greased jack -pin to ram you into
hell. Christ knows George done ever’thing he
could to jack you outa the sewer, but it don’t
do no good. If you think George gonna let you
tend rabbits, you’re even crazier’n usual. He
ain’t. He’s gonna beat hell outa you with a stick,
that’s what he’s gonna do.”
Now Lennie retorted belligerently, “He ain’t
neither. George won’t do nothing like that. I’ve
knew George since— I forget when— and he ain’t
never raised his han’ to me with a stick. He’s
nice to me. He ain’t gonna be mean.”
“Well, he’s sick of you,” said the rabbit. “He’s
gonna beat hell outa you an’ then go away an’
leave you.”
“He won’t,” Lennie cried frantically. “He
won’t do nothing like that. I know George. Me
an’ him travels together.”
But the rabbit repeated softly over and over, “He gonna leave you, ya crazy bastard. He
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OF MICE AND MEN
gonna leave ya all alone. He gonna leave ya, crazy bastard.”
Lennie put his hands over his ears. “He ain’t,
I tell ya he ain’t.” And he cried, “Oh! George
—George— George! ”
George came quietly out of the brush and the rabbit scuttled back into Lennie’s brain.
George said quietly, “What the hell you yellin’ about?”
Lennie got up on his knees. “You ain’t gonna leave me, are ya, George? 1 know you ain’t.”
George came stiffly near and sat down beside him. “No.”
“I knowed it,” Lennie cried. “You ain’t that kind.”
George was silent.
Lennie said, “George.”
“Yeah?”
“1 done another bad thing.”
“It don’t make no difference,” George said, and he fell silent again.
Only the topmost ridges were in the sun now.
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OF MICE AND MEN
The shadow in the valley was blue and soft.
From the distance came the sound of men shout-
ing to one another. George turned his head and
listened to the shouts.
Lennie said, “George.”
“Yeah?”
“Ain't you gonna give me hell?”
“Give ya hell?”
“Sure, like you always done before. Like, ‘If I di’n’t have you I’d take my fifty bucks ’ ”
“Jesus Christ, Lennie! You can’t remember
nothing that happens, but you remember ever’
word 1 say.”
“Well, ain’t you gonna say it?”
George shook himself. He said woodenly, “If
I was alone I could live so easy.” His voice was
monotonous, had no emphasis. “I could get a
job an’ not have no mess.” He stopped.
“Go on,” said Lennie. “An’ when the enda the month come ”
“An’ when the end of the month come I
could take my fifty bucks an’ go to a ... . cat
house . . . He stopped again.
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OF MICE AND MEN
Lennie looked eagerly at him. “Go on,
George. Ain’t you gonna give me no more
hell?”
“No,” said George.
“Well, I can go away,” said Lennie. “I’ll go
right off in the hills an’ find a cave if you don’
want me.”
George shook himself again. “No,” he said. “I want you to stay with me here.”
Lennie said craftily— “Tell me like you done before.”
“Tell you what?”
“ ’Bout the other guys an’ about us.
George said, “Guys like us got no fambly.
They make a little stake an’ then they blow it
in. They ain’t got nobody in the worl’ that gives
a hoot in hell about ’em — ”
“ But not us,” Lennie cried happily. “Tell about us now.”
George was quiet for a moment. “But not us,” he said.
“Because — ”
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OF MICE AND MEN
“Because I got you an’ — ”
“An’ I got you. We got each other, that’s
what, that gives a hoot in hell about us,” Lennie
cried in triumph.
The little evening breeze blew over the clear-
ing and the leaves rustled and the wind waves
flowed up the green pool. And the shouts of
men sounded again, this time much closer than
before.
George took off his hat. He said shakily, “Take off your hat, Lennie. The air feels fine.”
Lennie removed his hat dutifully and laid it
on the ground in front of him. The shadow in
the valley was bluer, and the evening came fast.
On the wind the sound of crashing in the brush
came to them.
Lennie said, “Tell how it’s gonna be.”
George had been listening to the distant
sounds. For a moment he was business-like.
“Look acrost the river, Lennie, an’ I’ll tell you
so you can almost see it.”
Lennie turned his head and looked off across
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OF MICE AND MEN
the pool and up the darkening slopes of the
Gabilans. “We gonna get a little place,” George
began. He reached in his side pocket and
brought out Carlson’s Luger; he snapped off the
safety, and the hand and gun lay on the ground
behind Lennie’s back. He looked at the back of
Lennie’s head, at the place where the spine and
skull were joined.
A man’s voice called from up the river, and another man answered.
“Go on,” said Lennie.
George raised the gun and his hand shook, and he dropped his hand to the ground again.
“Go on,” said Lennie. “How’s it gonna be. We gonna get a little place.”
“We’ll have a cow,” said George. “An’ we’ll
have maybe a pig an’ chickens .... an’ down
the flat we’ll have a . . . . little piece alfalfa — ”
“For the rabbits,” Lennie shouted.
“For the rabbits,” George repeated.
“And I get to tend the rabbits.”
“An’ you get to tend the rabbits.”
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OF MICE AND MEN
Lennie giggled with happiness. “An’ live on the fatta the lan’.”
“Yes.”
Lennie turned his head.
“No, Lennie. Look down there acrost the river, like you can almost see the place.”
Lennie obeyed him. George looked down at the gun.
There were crashing footsteps in the brush now. George turned and looked toward them.
“Go on, George. When we gonna do it?”
“Gonna do it soon.”
“Me an’ you.”
“You .... an’ me. Ever’body gonna be nice
to you. Ain’t gonna be no more trouble. No-
body gonna hurt nobody nor steal from ’em.”
Lennie said, “I thought you was mad at me, George.”
“No,” said George. “No, Lennie. I ain’t mad. I never been mad, an’ 1 ain’t now. That’s a thing I want ya to know.”
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OF MICE AND MEN
The voices came close now. George raised the gun and listened to the voices.
Lennie begged, “Le’s do it now. Le’s get that place now.”
“Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta.”
And George raised the gun and steadied it,
and he brought the muzzle of it close to the
back of Lennie’s head. The hand shook vio-
lently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He
pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled
up the hills and rolled down again. Lennie
jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the
sand, and he lay without quivering.
George shivered and looked at the gun, and
then he threw it from him, back up on the bank,
near the pile of old ashes.
The brush seemed filled with cries and with
the sound of running feet. Slim’s voice shouted,
“George. Where you at, George?”
But George sat stiffly on the bank and looked
at his right hand that had thrown the gun away.
The group burst into the clearing, and Curley
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OF MICE AND MEN
was ahead. He saw Lennie lying on the sand.
“Got him, by God.” He went over and looked
down at Lennie, and then he looked back at
George. “Right in the back of the head,” he said
softly.
Slim came directly to George and sat down
beside him, sat very close to him. “Never you
mind,” said Slim. “A guy got to sometimes.”
But Carlson was standing over George. “How’d you do it?” he asked.
“1 just done it,” George said tiredly.
“Did he have my gun?”
“Yeah. He had your gun.”
“An’ you got it away from him and you took it an’ you killed him?”
“Yeah. Tha’s how.” George’s voice was al-
most a whisper. He looked steadily at his right
hand that had held the gun.
Slim twitched George’s elbow. “Come on, George. Me an’ you’ll go in an’ get a drink.”
George let himself be helped to his feet. “Yeah, a drink.”
OF MICE AND MEN
Slim said, “You hadda, George. I swear you
hadda. Come on with me.” He led George into
the entrance of the trail and up toward the
highway.
Curley and Carlson looked after them. And
Carlson said, “Now what the hell ya suppose is
eatin’ them two guys?”
186
*** END OF THIS BOOK ***
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