Atticus had stopped poking at Jem: they were standing together beside Dill. Their attention amounted to fascination.
Atticus’s 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 takes a long time sometimes… that you all’d 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.
“What’s 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. “I’ll tell him you said hey, little lady,” he said.
Then he straightened up and waved a big paw. “Let’s clear out,” he called. “Let’s get going, boys.”
As they had come, in ones and twos the men shuffled back to their ramshackle cars.
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