“You’ve ruined ‘em,” said Jem. “Why don’t you get a colored man?”
There was no note of sacrifice in his voice when he added, “Or Scout’n’me, we can help you.”
Miss Maudie said, “Thank you sir, but you’ve got a job of your own over there.” She pointed to our yard.
“You mean the Morphodite?” I asked. “Shoot, we can rake him up in a jiffy.”
Miss Maudie stared down at me, her lips moving silently. Suddenly she put her hands to her head and whooped.
When we left her, she was still chuckling. Jem said he didn’t know what was the matter with her—that was just Miss Maudie.
Chapter 9
“You can just take that back, boy!” This order, given by me to Cecil Jacobs, was the beginning of a rather thin time for Jem and me.
My fists were clenched and I was ready to let fly.
Atticus had promised me he would wear me out if he ever heard of me fighting any more; I was far too old and too big for such childish things,
and the sooner I learned to hold in, the better off everybody would be. I soon forgot.
Cecil Jacobs made me forget. He had announced in the schoolyard the day before that Scout Finch’s daddy defended niggers.
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