He stopped in front of the dog, squatted, turned around and tapped his finger on his forehead above his left eye.
“You were a little to the right, Mr. Finch,” he called. “Always was,” answered Atticus.
“If I had my ‘druthers I’d take a shotgun.” He stooped and picked up his glasses,
ground the broken lenses to powder under his heel, and went to Mr. Tate and stood looking down at Tim Johnson.
Doors opened one by one, and the neighborhood slowly came alive. Miss Maudie walked down the steps with Miss Stephanie Crawford.
Jem was paralyzed. I pinched him to get him moving, but when Atticus saw us coming he called, “Stay where you are.”
When Mr. Tate and Atticus returned to the yard, Mr. Tate was smiling. “I’ll have Zeebo collect him,” he said.
“You haven’t forgot much, Mr. Finch. They say it never leaves you.” Atticus was silent.
“Atticus?” said Jem. “Yes?” “Nothin‘.” “I saw that, One-Shot Finch!”
Atticus wheeled around and faced Miss Maudie. They looked at one another without saying anything, and Atticus got into the sheriff’s car.
“Come here,” he said to Jem. “Don’t you go near that dog, you understand? Don’t go near him, he’s just as dangerous dead as alive.”
“Yes sir,” said Jem. “Atticus—” “What, son?” “Nothing.”
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