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Atticus
was
silent
for
a
moment
.
He
looked
at
Mr
.
Tate
as
if
he
appreciated
what
he
said
.
But
Atticus
shook
his
head
.
"
Heck
,
it
’
s
mighty
kind
of
you
and
I
know
you
’
re
doing
it
from
that
good
heart
of
yours
,
but
don
’
t
start
anything
like
that
.
"
Mr
.
Tate
got
up
and
went
to
the
edge
of
the
porch
.
He
spat
into
the
shrubbery
,
then
thrust
his
hands
into
his
hip
pockets
and
faced
Atticus
.
"
Like
what
?
"
he
said
.
"
I
’
m
sorry
if
I
spoke
sharply
,
Heck
,
"
Atticus
said
simply
,
"
but
nobody
’
s
hushing
this
up
.
I
don
’
t
live
that
way
.
"
"
Nobody
’
s
gonna
hush
anything
up
,
Mr
.
Finch
.
"
Mr
.
Tate
’
s
voice
was
quiet
,
but
his
boots
were
planted
so
solidly
on
the
porch
floorboards
it
seemed
that
they
grew
there
.
A
curious
contest
,
the
nature
of
which
eluded
me
,
was
developing
between
my
father
and
the
sheriff
.
It
was
Atticus
’
s
turn
to
get
up
and
go
to
the
edge
of
the
porch
.
He
said
,
"
H
’
rm
,
"
and
spat
dryly
into
the
yard
.
He
put
his
hands
in
his
pockets
and
faced
Mr
.
Tate
.
"
Heck
,
you
haven
’
t
said
it
,
but
I
know
what
you
’
re
thinking
.
Thank
you
for
it
.
Jean
Louise
—
"
he
turned
to
me
.
"
You
said
Jem
yanked
Mr
.
Ewell
off
you
?
"
"
Yes
sir
,
that
’
s
what
I
thought
.
.
.
I
—
"
