Of Mice and Men (Plot Part 1)

Chapter 4 (Mice and Men)

Crooks, the Negro stable buck, had his bunk in the harness room; a 

little shed that leaned off the wall of the barn. 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 riveter. 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 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 scattered 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 back. 

 Crooks possessed several pairs of shoes, a pair of rubber boots, a 

big alarm clock and a single-barreled shotgun. And he had books, 

too; a tattered dictionary and a mauled copy of the California civil 

code for 19O5. 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 distance 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 

glitter with intensity. His lean face was lined with deep black 

wrinkles, and he had thin, pain-tightened 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