The inspector glanced up, not too friendly. “Howdy, Clive.” He signaled for random crates to be brought off. Amarjeet took off the ones he indicated, handed them to Ram and Karak. The inspector rolled up his sleeves and picked through the fruit. Clive stood near him, Jivan was at Clive’s elbow. Karak and Ram sat in the shade on the platform where the cars loaded up. Consolidated shippers’ men waited there for Jivan’s load. They wanted to make the evening train to L.A., which left in two hours, or Jivan’s cantaloupe would have to wait until morning.

“Too many greens in these two,” the inspector said, signaling the last of Jivan’s four wagons. “You boys need to sort those again.”

Karak opened his mouth to speak, but Jivan silenced him with his eyes. Clive stepped forward. “Aw, come on, Will. They don’t look that bad.”

“Commission’ll have my hide if I let a bad one through. It’s the new law. You know that.”

“Check this one again,” Clive said. “This one’s just fine. Just fine.”

The inspector looked at him. A glance of impatience.

“Come on,” Clive said, laughing. “Check it.”

The inspector climbed on the platform again. Jivan wanted to tell him, The workers could not wait two more days, but he said nothing. The inspector nosed around the melons. “I’ll let this one go. Only just. If you weren’t here”—he looked at Clive—“I’d pull it.”

Amarjeet led the third wagon through. Consolidated’s men waited on the platform, chewing tobacco, busy not looking at him. One of them spat onto the rail. “Bring ’em up! Bring ’em up!”

“But this one ain’t going,” the inspector said, indicating the fourth wagon.

“Willy,” Clive said, jovial.

The inspector glared at him. “Our wives are sisters, but that don’t mean nothin’ here.”

Clive’s face shrank.

“Pull it over,” the inspector commanded Amarjeet. He did. Behind them, a hundred yards down the line, two other farmers had been pulled over too. Amarjeet told Jivan he recognized them from his old high school. Anglo families who lived even farther outside town. Jivan shrugged.

“You got to educate your sharecroppers on the right time to harvest,” the inspector said, “or be runnin’ afoul of the standardization laws.”

“I do what I can, Will,” Clive said. He hitched up his pants. “I know about ’em new laws. I ain’t the best farmer around, but I know when to bring in a crop.” He drifted off toward Consolidated’s men, talking with them as cantaloupe from Jivan’s first three wagons were loaded.