Free The Pastures of Heaven by John Steinbeck

interest was aroused in the dull brain of the girl.
    â€œDon’t you ever let me catch you talking to that Jimmie Munroe,” he told her.
    â€œWho’s Jimmie Munroe, Papa?”
    â€œNever you mind who he is. Just don’t let me catch you talking to him. You hear me! Why! I’ll skin you alive if you even look at him.”
    Shark had never laid a hand on Alice for the same reason that he would not have whipped a Dresden vase. He even hesitated to caress her for fear of leaving a mark. Punishment was never necessary. Alice had always been a good and tractable child. Badness must originate in an idea or an ambition. She had never experienced either.
    And again—“You haven’t been talking to that Jimmie Munroe, have you?”
    â€œNo, Papa.”
    â€œWell just don’t let me catch you at it.”
    After a number of repetitions of this order, a conviction crept into the thickened cells of Alice’s brain that she would really like to see Jimmie Munroe. She even had a dream about him, which shows how deeply she was stirred. Alice very rarely dreamed about anything. In her dream, a man who looked like the Indian on her room calendar, and whose name was Jimmie, drove up in a shiny automobile and gave her a large juicy peach. When she bit into the peach, the juice ran down her chin and embarrassed her. Then her mother awakened her for she was snoring. Katherine was glad her daughter snored. It was one of the equaling imperfections. But at the same time it was not ladylike.
    Shark Wicks received a telegram. “Aunt Nellie passed away last night. Funeral Saturday.” He got into his Ford and drove to the farm of John Whiteside to say he couldn’t attend the school board meeting. John Whiteside was clerk of the board. Before he left, Shark looked worried for a moment and then said, “I been wanting to ask you what you thought about that San Jose Building and Loan Company.”
    John Whiteside smiled. “I don’t know much about that particular company,” he said.
    â€œWell, I’ve got thirty thousand lying in the bank drawing three per cent. I thought I could turn a little more interest than that if I looked around.”
    John Whiteside pursed his lips and blew softly and tapped the stream of air with his forefinger. “Offhand, I’d say Building and Loan was your best bet.”
    â€œOh, that ain’t my way of doing business. I don’t want bets,” Shark cut in. “If I can’t see a sure profit in a thing, I won’t go into it. Too many people bet.”
    â€œThat was only a manner of speaking, Mr. Wicks. Few Building and Loan Companies go under. And they pay good interest.”
    â€œI’ll look into it anyway,” Shark decided. “I’m going up to Oakland for Aunt Nellie’s funeral, and I’ll just stop off a few hours in San Jose and look into this company.”
    At the Pastures of Heaven General Store that night there were new guesses made at the amount of Shark’s wealth, for Shark had asked the advice of several men.
    â€œWell anyway, there’s one thing you can say,” T. B. Allen concluded, “Shark Wicks is nobody’s fool. He’ll ask a man’s advice as well as the next one, but he’s not going to take anybody’s say-so until he looks into it himself.”
    â€œOh, he’s nobody’s fool,” the gathering concurred.
    Shark went to Oakland on Saturday morning, leaving his wife and daughter alone for the first time in his life. On Saturday evening Tom Breman called by to take Katherine and Alice to a dance at the schoolhouse.
    â€œOh, I don’t think Mr. Wicks would like it,” Katherine said, in a thrilled, frightened tone.
    â€œHe didn’t tell you not to go, did he?”
    â€œNo, but—he’s never been away before. I don’t think he’d like it.”
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    â€œHe just never thought of it,” Tom Breman assured