Chapter one. Tom Comes Home

The clouds appeared, but went away again. It seemed they did not even try to make rain. The surface of the earth formed a dry hard layer. The dirt layer broke and the dust formed. Every moving thing - a walking man, a wagon, a car - lifted the dust into the air. People stayed in their houses, and they tied cloth over their noses and wore glasses to protect their eyes when they went out.

A great red truck stood in front of a little roadside diner. Inside, the truck driver sat on a chair and rested his elbows on the counter and looked over his coffee at the lean and lonely waitress. Outside, a man who was walking along the highway crossed over and approached the truck. He stopped in front of it and read the No Riders sign on the windshield.

The man outside was close to thirty. His eyes were dark brown and his cheeks were high and wide. He wore a new gray suit but it was cheap. His gray cap was so new that it was still stiff.

In the diner, the truck driver paid his bill. He was a heavy red-faced man with broad shoulders and a thick stomach. He stepped outside and walked to the big red truck.

The man in the cheap gray suit asked, “Could you give me a lift, sir?”

“Didn’t you see the No Riders sign on the windshield?”

“I sure did, but my feet are really tired.”

“New shoes,” the truck driver said, looking down at them. “You shouldn’t walk in new shoes in hot weather.”

“I don’t have any other shoes,” the hitchhiker said.

“Well, OK then.”

“Thanks.”

The hitchhiker opened the door and slid into the seat. The driver looked at him carefully, then started the engine.

“Are you going far?” the driver asked.

“No.”

“Looking for a job?”

“No, my pa’s got a place. He’s a tenant farmer and we’ve been there a long time.”

“A tenant farmer and he’s still here?”

“Of course, I ain’t heard lately.”

The driver then asked, “Have you been at a job?”

“I sure have,” the hitchhiker said.