Myra made the most noise, of course, even though it was more Rose’s place to do it, and she’d been practicing all the way into town. There just wasn’t no one that could beat Myra when it came to noisemaking. She started to steer Rose into her bedroom, her eyes on Rose instead of where she was going, and she bumped spang into Lennie. She whirled and gave him a slap that almost made ‘me’ hurt. Then she hit him again because he yelled.

“Now, you shut up!” she warned him. “Just shut up and behave yourself. Poor Rose has enough trouble without putting up with your racket!”

Lennie clenched his teeth to keep from bawling; I almost felt kind of sorry for him. Fact is, I felt real sorry for him, but right while I was doing it, I felt something else. Because that’s the way I am, I guess. I start feeling sorry for people, like Rose, for example, or even Myra or Uncle John or, well, lots of folks, and the way it eventually works out is it’d be a lot better if I hadn’t felt sorry for them. Better for them, I mean. And I guess that’s natural enough, you know? Because when you’re sorry for someone, you want to help them, and when it sinks in on you that you can’t, that there’s too god-danged many of them, that everywhere you look there’s someone, millions of someones, and you’re only one man an’ no one else cares an’—an’—

We were having an oven supper that night, which was a good thing since Myra was so long in the bedroom with Rose. Finally, they came out, and I patted Rose on the shoulder and told her she’d have to be brave. She rested her head against my chest for a moment, like she just couldn’t help herself, and I gave her another pat.

“Now, that’s right, Nick,” Myra said. “You just take care of Rose, and I’ll get supper on.”

“I’ll sure do that,” I said, “me an’ Lennie’ll both take care of her, won’t we, Lennie?”

Lennie scowled, blaming Rose naturally because Myra had hit him. Myra gave him a frown and told him he’d better watch his step. Then she went into the kitchen to take up supper.

It was god-danged good, being a company meal. Rose remembered to bust into tears now and then, and say that she just couldn’t eat a bite. But she couldn’t have put away much more without letting out her dress.

Myra filled up our coffee cups, and brought in dessert, two kinds of pie and a chocolate cake. Rose had some of each, shedding a few tears at intervals to show that she was just forcin’ herself.

We finished eating. Rose got up to help, but of course, Myra wouldn’t hear of it.

“No, sir, no, siree! You sit right down there on the settee, and rest your poor dear self!”

“But it’s not fair to leave you with all the work, Myra, darling,” Rose said. “I could at least do—”