Thatll do, Scout. Atticus put his hand on my shoulder. Dont kick folks. No he said, as I was pleading justification.

Aint nobody gonna do Jem that way, I said.

All right, Mr. Finch, get em outa here, someone growled. You got fifteen seconds to get em outa here.

In the midst of this strange assembly, Atticus stood trying to make Jem mind him. I aint going, was his steady answer to Atticuss threats, requests, and finally, Please Jem, take them home.

I was getting a bit tired of that, but felt Jem had his own reasons for doing as he did, in view of his prospects once Atticus did get him home. I looked around the crowd. It was a summers night, but the men were dressed, most of them, in overalls and denim shirts buttoned up to the collars. I thought they must be cold-natured, as their sleeves were unrolled and buttoned at the cuffs. Some wore hats pulled firmly down over their ears. They were sullen-looking, sleepy-eyed men who seemed unused to late hours. I sought once more for a familiar face, and at the center of the semi-circle I found one.

Hey, Mr. Cunningham.

The man did not hear me, it seemed.

Hey, Mr. Cunningham. Hows your entailment gettin along?

Mr. Walter Cunninghams legal affaris were well known to me; Atticus had once described them at length. The big man blinked and hooked his thumbs in his overall straps. He seemed uncomfortable; he cleared his throat and looked away. My friendly overture had fallen flat.

Mr. Cunningham wore no hat, and the top half of his forehead was white in contrast to his sunscorched face, which led me to believe that he wore one most days. He shifted his feet, clad in heavy work shoes.

Dont you remember me, Mr. Cunningham? Im Jean Louise Finch. You brought us some hickory nuts one time, remember? I began to sense the futility one feels when unacknowledged by a chance acquaintance.

I go to school with Walter, I began again. Hes your boy, aint he? Aint he, sir?

Mr. Cunningham was moved to a faint nod. He did know me, after all.

Hes in my grade, I said, and he does right well. Hes a good boy, I added, a real nice boy. We brought him home for dinner one time. Maybe he told you about me, I beat him up one time but he was real nice about it. Tell him hey for me, wont you?

Atticus had said it was the polite thing to talk to people about what they were interested in, not about what you were interested in. Mr. Cunningham displayed no interest in his son, so I tackled his entailment once more in a last-ditch effort to make him feel at home.

Entailments are bad, I was advising him, when I slowly awoke to the fact that I was addressing the entire aggregation. The men were all looking at me, some had their mouths half-open. Atticus had stopped poking at Jem: they were standing together beside Dill. Their attention amounted to fascination. Atticuss mouth, even, was half-open, an attitude he had once described as uncouth. Our eyes met and he shut it.

Well, Atticus, I was just sayin to Mr. Cunningham that entailments are bad an all that, but you said not to worry, it take a long time sometimes . . . that you alld ride it out together . . . I was slowly drying up, wondering what idiocy I had committed. Entailments seemed all right enough for livingroom talk.

I began to feel sweat gathering at the edges of my hair; I could stand anything but a bunch of people looking at me. They were quite still.

Whats the matter? I asked.

Atticus said nothing. I looked around and up at Mr. Cunningham, whose face was equally impassive. Then he did a peculiar thing. He squatted down and took me by both shoulders.

Ill tell him you said hey, little lady, he said.

They he straightened up and waved a big paw. Lets clear out, he called. Lets get going, boys.

As they had come, in ones and twos the men shuffled back to their ramshackle cars. Doors slammed, engines coughed, and they were gone.

I turned to Atticus, but Atticus had gone to the jail and was leaning against it with his face to the wall. I went to him and pulled his sleeve. Can we go home now? He nodded, produced his handkerchief, gave his face a going over and blew his nose violently.

Mr. Finch?

A soft husky voice came from the darkness above: They gone?

Atticus stepped back and looked up. Theyve gone, he said. Get some sleep, Tom. They wont bother you any more.