Representatives of the company come to tell the tenants that they must get off the land. Sharecropping is no longer profitable, so the bank has bought the land to farm. The men representing the company are mean or nice or cold because they are ashamed of what they are doing, yet none take responsibility for their actions. It is not their fault, but the fault of the Bank, and the Bank is not a person. The squatters try to bargain, offering to rotate crops or to take a smaller share, but the bank men are not interested. The tenants argue that the land belongs to them because their families have lived and died on it, but the bank men only reply, "I'm sorry."
The next day, a tractor arrives, bulldozing whatever is in its path. Disconnected from the land on which he works, the driver is not a living man, but an extension of the tractor. The tenants recognize him as the son of a neighbor and question why he would help to put his neighbors out of their homes. He replies that he has his own family to take care of, and the bank will pay him three dollars a day, every day. The tenant wants to know whom he should kill to get his land back, but there is no person he can fight. While the tenant tries to figure out what to do, the tractor bites into the corner of his house.
