I'm not sure what to write about this. I like this story because it's short, to be honest. However, Steinbeck's written a multi-layered story, here, set in the southern states, during the Depression era. There's exploitation of workers, with so many out of work that they have no bargaining power. There's racism. There's the anti-hero, George, who demonstrates inexplicable loyalty to Lennie. Inexplicable until one has read the book, that is.
Crooks stood up from his bunk and faced her. "I had enough," he said coldly. "You got no rights comin' in a coloured man's room. You got no rights messing around in here at all. Now you jus' get out, an' get out quick. If you don't, I'm gonna ast the boss not to ever let you come in the barn no more."
She turned to him in scorn. "Listen, Nigger," she said. "You know what I can do to you if you open your trap?"
Crooks stared hopelessly at her, and then he sat down on his bunk and drew into himself.
She closed on him. "You know what I could do?"
Crooks seemed to grow smaller, and he pressed himself against the wall. "Yes, ma'am."
"Well, you keep your place then, Nigger. I could get you strung up from a tree so easy it ain't even funny."
Crooks had reduced himself to nothing. There was no personality, no ego - nothing to arouse either like or dislike. He said: "Yes, ma'am," and his voice was toneless.
For a moment she stood over him as though waiting for him to move so that she could whip at him again; but Crooks sat perfectly still, his eyes averted, everything that might be hurt drawn in. She turned at last to the other two.
Old Candy was watching her, fascinated. "If you was to do that, we'd tell," he said quietly. "We'd tell about you framin' Crooks."
"Tell an' be damned," she cried. "Nobody'd listen to you, an' you know it. Nobody'd listen to you."
Candy subsided. "No," he agreed. "- Nobody'd listen to us."