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"
Sort
of
.
She
won
’
t
let
him
alone
about
Tom
Robinson
.
She
almost
said
Atticus
was
disgracin
’
the
family
.
Scout
.
.
.
I
’
m
scared
.
"
"
Scared
’
a
what
?
"
"
Scared
about
Atticus
.
Somebody
might
hurt
him
.
"
Jem
preferred
to
remain
mysterious
;
all
he
would
say
to
my
questions
was
go
on
and
leave
him
alone
.
Next
day
was
Sunday
.
In
the
interval
between
Sunday
School
and
Church
when
the
congregation
stretched
its
legs
,
I
saw
Atticus
standing
in
the
yard
with
another
knot
of
men
.
Mr
.
Heck
Tate
was
present
,
and
I
wondered
if
he
had
seen
the
light
.
He
never
went
to
church
.
Even
Mr
.
Underwood
was
there
.
Mr
.
Underwood
had
no
use
for
any
organization
but
The
Maycomb
Tribune
,
of
which
he
was
the
sole
owner
,
editor
,
and
printer
.
His
days
were
spent
at
his
linotype
,
where
he
refreshed
himself
occasionally
from
an
ever
-
present
gallon
jug
of
cherry
wine
.
He
rarely
gathered
news
;
people
brought
it
to
him
.
It
was
said
that
he
made
up
every
edition
of
The
Maycomb
Tribune
out
of
his
own
head
and
wrote
it
down
on
the
linotype
.
This
was
believable
.
Something
must
have
been
up
to
haul
Mr
.
Underwood
out
.
I
caught
Atticus
coming
in
the
door
,
and
he
said
that
they
’
d
moved
Tom
Robinson
to
the
Maycomb
jail
.
He
also
said
,
more
to
himself
than
to
me
,
that
if
they
’
d
kept
him
there
in
the
first
place
there
wouldn
’
t
have
been
any
fuss
.
I
watched
him
take
his
seat
on
the
third
row
from
the
front
,
and
I
heard
him
rumble
,
"
Nearer
my
God
to
thee
,
"
some
notes
behind
the
rest
of
us
.
He
never
sat
with
Aunty
,
Jem
and
me
.
He
liked
to
be
by
himself
in
church
.
The
fake
peace
that
prevailed
on
Sundays
was
made
more
irritating
by
Aunt
Alexandra
’
s
presence
.
Atticus
would
flee
to
his
office
directly
after
dinner
,
where
if
we
sometimes
looked
in
on
him
,
we
would
find
him
sitting
back
in
his
swivel
chair
reading
.
Aunt
Alexandra
composed
herself
for
a
two
-
hour
nap
and
dared
us
to
make
any
noise
in
the
yard
,
the
neighborhood
was
resting
.
Jem
in
his
old
age
had
taken
to
his
room
with
a
stack
of
football
magazines
.
So
Dill
and
I
spent
our
Sundays
creeping
around
in
Deer
’
s
Pasture
.
Shooting
on
Sundays
was
prohibited
,
so
Dill
and
I
kicked
Jem
’
s
football
around
the
pasture
for
a
while
,
which
was
no
fun
.
Dill
asked
if
I
’
d
like
to
have
a
poke
at
Boo
Radley
.
I
said
I
didn
’
t
think
it
’
d
be
nice
to
bother
him
,
and
spent
the
rest
of
the
afternoon
filling
Dill
in
on
last
winter
’
s
events
.
He
was
considerably
impressed
.
We
parted
at
suppertime
,
and
after
our
meal
Jem
and
I
were
settling
down
to
a
routine
evening
,
when
Atticus
did
something
that
interested
us
:
he
came
into
the
livingroom
carrying
a
long
electrical
extension
cord
.
There
was
a
light
bulb
on
the
end
.
"
I
’
m
going
out
for
a
while
,
"
he
said
.
"
You
folks
’
ll
be
in
bed
when
I
come
back
,
so
I
’
ll
say
good
night
now
.
"
