“Scout here, she’s crazy—she won’t fight you any more.”
“I wouldn’t be too certain of that,” I said. Jem’s free dispensation of my pledge irked me, but precious noontime minutes were ticking away.
“Yeah Walter, I won’t jump on you again. Don’t you like butterbeans? Our Cal’s a real good cook.”
Walter stood where he was, biting his lip. Jem and I gave up, and we were nearly to the Radley Place when Walter called, “Hey, I’m comin’!”
When Walter caught up with us, Jem made pleasant conversation with him.
“A hain’t lives there,” he said cordially, pointing to the Radley house. “Ever hear about him, Walter?”
“Reckon I have,” said Walter. “Almost died first year I come to school and et them pecans—”
“folks say he pizened ‘em and put ’em over on the school side of the fence.”
Jem seemed to have little fear of Boo Radley now that Walter and I walked beside him.
Indeed, Jem grew boastful: “I went all the way up to the house once,” he said to Walter.
“Anybody who went up to the house once oughta not to still run every time he passes it,” I said to the clouds above.
“And who’s runnin’, Miss Priss?” “You are, when ain’t anybody with you.”
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