In Dubious Battle by John Steinbeck Read Free Book Online Page B

of him and try to keep him out of trouble.”
    “My old man was like that,” said Jim. “One time I found him in the street. He was walking in big circles off to the left. I had to steer him straight. A scab had smashedhim under the ear with a pair of brass knuckles. Seemed to affect his sense of direction.”
    “Now look here,” said Mac. “Here’s a general letter. I’ve got four carbons in the typewriter. We’ve got to have twenty copies. You want to get to it while I fix some supper?”
    “Sure,” said Jim.
    “Well, hit the keys hard. Those carbon sheets aren’t much good.” Mac went into the kitchen calling, “Dick, come out and peel some onions if you can stand the horrible smell.”
    Dick got up from the couch; after rolling the sleeves of his white shirt neatly above his elbows, he followed Mac into the kitchen.
    Jim had just started his heavy, deliberate typing when Joy eased himself off the couch and walked over. “Who produces the goods?” Joy demanded.
    “Why—the workers,” said Jim.
    A foxy look came on Joy’s face, a very wise and secret look. “And who takes the profits?”
    “The people with invested capital.”
    Joy shouted, “But they don’t produce nothing. What right they got to the profits?”
    Mac looked in through the kitchen door. He walked quickly over, a stirring spoon in his hand. “Now listen to me, Joy,” he said. “Stop trying to convert our own people. Jesus Christ, it seems to me our guys spend most of their time converting each other. Now you go back and rest, Joy. You’re tired. Jim here’s got work to do. After he finishes, I’ll maybe let you address some of the letters, Joy.”
    “Will you, Mac? Well, I sure told ’em, didn’t I, Mac? Even when they was smackin’ me, I told ’em.”
    Mac took him gently by the elbow and led him back to his cot. “Here’s a copy of
New Masses.
You just look at the pictures till I get dinner ready.”
    Jim pounded away at the letter. He wrote it four times and laid the twenty copies beside the typewriter. He called into the kitchen, “Here they are, all ready, Mac.”
    Mac came in and looked at some of the copies. “Why, you type fine, Jim. You don’t cross out hardly anything. Now here’s some envelopes. Put these letters in. We’ll address ’em after we eat.”
    Mac filled the plates with corned beef and carrots and potatoes and raw sliced onions. Each man retired to his cot to eat. The daylight was dim in the room until Mac turned on a powerful unshaded light that hung from the center of the ceiling.
    When they had finished, Mac went into the kitchen again and returned with a platter of cup cakes. “Here’s some more of Dick’s work,” he said. “That Dick uses the bedroom for political purposes. Gentlemen, I give you the DuBarry of the Party!”
    “You go to hell,” said Dick.
    Mac picked up the sealed envelopes from Jim’s bed. “Here’s twenty letters. That’s five for each one of us to address.” He pushed the plates aside on the table, and from a drawer brought out a pen and a bottle of ink. Then, drawing a list from his pocket, he carefully addressed five of the envelopes. “Your turn, Jim. You do these five.”
    “What’s it for?” Jim asked.
    “Well, I guess it don’t make much difference, but itmight make it a little harder. We’re getting our mail opened pretty regular. I just thought it might make it a little harder for the dicks if all these addresses were in different writing. We’ll put one of each in a mail box, you see. No good looking for trouble.”
    While the other two men were writing their addresses, Jim picked up the dishes, carried them into the kitchen and stacked them on the sinkboard.
    Mac was stamping the letters and putting them into his pocket when Jim came back. Mac said, “Dick, you and Joy wash the dishes tonight. I did ’em alone last night. I’m going out to mail these letters. Want to walk with me, Jim?”
    “Sure,” said Jim. “I’ve got a dollar.