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16Jem heard me. He thrust his head around the connecting door. As he came tomy bed Atticus’s light flashed on. We stayed where we were until it went off; weheard him turn over, and we waited until he was still again.Jem took me to his room and put me in bed beside him. “Try to go to sleep,”he said, “It’ll be all over after tomorrow, maybe.”We had come in quietly, so as not to wake Aunty. Atticus killed the engine inthe driveway and coasted to the carhouse; we went in the back door and to ourrooms without a word. I was very tired, and was drifting into sleep when thememory of Atticus calmly folding his newspaper and pushing back his hatbecame Atticus standing in the middle of an empty waiting street, pushing up hisglasses. The full meaning of the night’s events hit me and I began crying. Jemwas awfully nice about it: for once he didn’t remind me that people nearly nineyears old didn’t do things like that.Everybody’s appetite was delicate this morning, except Jem’s: he ate his waythrough three eggs. Atticus watched in frank admiration; Aunt Alexandra sippedcoffee and radiated waves of disapproval. Children who slipped out at nightwere a disgrace to the family. Atticus said he was right glad his disgraces hadcome along, but Aunty said, “Nonsense, Mr. Underwood was there all the time.”“You know, it’s a funny thing about Braxton,” said Atticus. “He despisesNegroes, won’t have one near him.”Local opinion held Mr. Underwood to be an intense, profane little man, whosefather in a fey fit of humor christened Braxton Bragg, a name Mr. Underwoodhad done his best to live down. Atticus said naming people after Confederategenerals made slow steady drinkers.Calpurnia was serving Aunt Alexandra more coffee, and she shook her head atwhat I thought was a pleading winning look. “You’re still too little,” she said.“I’ll tell you when you ain’t.” I said it might help my stomach. “All right,” shesaid, and got a cup from the sideboard. She poured one tablespoonful of coffeeinto it and filled the cup to the brim with milk. I thanked her by sticking out mytongue at it, and looked up to catch Aunty’s warning frown. But she wasfrowning at Atticus.
She waited until Calpurnia was in the kitchen, then she said, “Don’t talk likethat in front of them.”“Talk like what in front of whom?” he asked.“Like that in front of Calpurnia. You said Braxton Underwood despisesNegroes right in front of her.”“Well, I’m sure Cal knows it. Everybody in Maycomb knows it.”I was beginning to notice a subtle change in my father these days, that cameout when he talked with Aunt Alexandra. It was a quiet digging in, neveroutright irritation. There was a faint starchiness in his voice when he said,“Anything fit to say at the table’s fit to say in front of Calpurnia. She knowswhat she means to this family.”“I don’t think it’s a good habit, Atticus. It encourages them. You know howthey talk among themselves. Every thing that happens in this town’s out to theQuarters before sundown.”My father put down his knife. “I don’t know of any law that says they can’ttalk. Maybe if we didn’t give them so much to talk about they’d be quiet. Whydon’t you drink your coffee, Scout?”I was playing in it with the spoon. “I thought Mr. Cunningham was a friend ofours. You told me a long time ago he was.”“He still is.”“But last night he wanted to hurt you.”Atticus placed his fork beside his knife and pushed his plate aside. “Mr.Cunningham’s basically a good man,” he said, “he just has his blind spots alongwith the rest of us.”Jem spoke. “Don’t call that a blind spot. He’da killed you last night when hefirst went there.”“He might have hurt me a little,” Atticus conceded, “but son, you’llunderstand folks a little better when you’re older. A mob’s always made up ofpeople, no matter what. Mr. Cunningham was part of a mob last night, but hewas still a man. Every mob in every little Southern town is always made up ofpeople you know—doesn’t say much for them, does it?”“I’ll say not,” said Jem.“So it took an eight-year-old child to bring ‘em to their senses, didn’t it?” saidAtticus. “That proves something—that a gang of wild animals can be stopped,simply because they’re still human. Hmp, maybe we need a police force of
- Page 101 and 102: 11When we were small, Jem and I con
- Page 103 and 104: the reform school before next week,
- Page 105 and 106: “Jem,” he said, “are you resp
- Page 107 and 108: The following Monday afternoon Jem
- Page 109 and 110: lot.”“She can’t help that. Wh
- Page 111 and 112: Jem’s chin would come up, and he
- Page 113 and 114: PART TWO
- Page 115 and 116: write.The fact that I had a permane
- Page 117 and 118: Purchase because it was paid for fr
- Page 119 and 120: windows.He said, “Brethren and si
- Page 121 and 122: intended to sweat the amount due ou
- Page 123 and 124: you take off the fact that men can
- Page 125 and 126: 13"Put my bag in the front bedroom,
- Page 127 and 128: When she settled in with us and lif
- Page 129 and 130: way: the older citizens, the presen
- Page 131 and 132: Stunned, Jem and I looked at each o
- Page 133 and 134: I remembered something. “Yessum,
- Page 135 and 136: now, for my edification and instruc
- Page 137 and 138: engaged to wash the camel. He trave
- Page 139 and 140: I put on my pajamas, read for a whi
- Page 141 and 142: 15After many telephone calls, much
- Page 143 and 144: you, didn’t they?”Atticus lower
- Page 145 and 146: correct to believe one’s mind inc
- Page 147 and 148: until we were in the shelter of the
- Page 149 and 150: pulled firmly down over their ears.
- Page 151: going home, but I was wrong. As the
- Page 155 and 156: said that’s the way his folks sig
- Page 157 and 158: “Then why does he do like that?
- Page 159 and 160: from long years of observation. Nor
- Page 161 and 162: what grounds, Judge Taylor said,
- Page 163 and 164: as you go in. She was pretty well b
- Page 165 and 166: finger marks on her gullet—”“
- Page 167 and 168: people turned around in the Negroes
- Page 169 and 170: Reverend Sykes’s black eyes were
- Page 171 and 172: “No, I mean her physical conditio
- Page 173 and 174: that he was a Christ-fearing man an
- Page 175 and 176: “Mr. Finch?”She nodded vigorous
- Page 177 and 178: you’ve already said before, but y
- Page 179 and 180: “Except when he’s drinking?”
- Page 181 and 182: good long look at you. Is this the
- Page 183 and 184: No answer.“Did you scream first a
- Page 185 and 186: 19Thomas Robinson reached around, r
- Page 187 and 188: Radley, who had not been out of the
- Page 189 and 190: on me.”“Jumped on you? Violentl
- Page 191 and 192: “Yes suh.”“What’d the nigge
- Page 193 and 194: “I says I was scared, suh.”“I
- Page 195 and 196: 20“Come on round here, son, I got
- Page 197 and 198: edged our way along the balcony rai
- Page 199 and 200: he swore out a warrant, no doubt si
- Page 201 and 202: 21She stopped shyly at the railing
16
Jem heard me. He thrust his head around the connecting door. As he came to
my bed Atticus’s light flashed on. We stayed where we were until it went off; we
heard him turn over, and we waited until he was still again.
Jem took me to his room and put me in bed beside him. “Try to go to sleep,”
he said, “It’ll be all over after tomorrow, maybe.”
We had come in quietly, so as not to wake Aunty. Atticus killed the engine in
the driveway and coasted to the carhouse; we went in the back door and to our
rooms without a word. I was very tired, and was drifting into sleep when the
memory of Atticus calmly folding his newspaper and pushing back his hat
became Atticus standing in the middle of an empty waiting street, pushing up his
glasses. The full meaning of the night’s events hit me and I began crying. Jem
was awfully nice about it: for once he didn’t remind me that people nearly nine
years old didn’t do things like that.
Everybody’s appetite was delicate this morning, except Jem’s: he ate his way
through three eggs. Atticus watched in frank admiration; Aunt Alexandra sipped
coffee and radiated waves of disapproval. Children who slipped out at night
were a disgrace to the family. Atticus said he was right glad his disgraces had
come along, but Aunty said, “Nonsense, Mr. Underwood was there all the time.”
“You know, it’s a funny thing about Braxton,” said Atticus. “He despises
Negroes, won’t have one near him.”
Local opinion held Mr. Underwood to be an intense, profane little man, whose
father in a fey fit of humor christened Braxton Bragg, a name Mr. Underwood
had done his best to live down. Atticus said naming people after Confederate
generals made slow steady drinkers.
Calpurnia was serving Aunt Alexandra more coffee, and she shook her head at
what I thought was a pleading winning look. “You’re still too little,” she said.
“I’ll tell you when you ain’t.” I said it might help my stomach. “All right,” she
said, and got a cup from the sideboard. She poured one tablespoonful of coffee
into it and filled the cup to the brim with milk. I thanked her by sticking out my
tongue at it, and looked up to catch Aunty’s warning frown. But she was
frowning at Atticus.
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