Jem’s head at times was transparent: he had thought that up to make me understand
he wasn’t afraid of Radleys in any shape or form, to contrast his own fearless heroism with my cowardice.
“Boo Radley? How?” asked Dill. Jem said, “Scout, you can be Mrs. Radley-”
“I declare if I will. I don’t think-” “‘Smatter?” said Dill. “Still scared?”
“He can get out at night when we’re all asleep…” I said. Jem hissed.
“Scout, how’s he gonna know what we’re doin‘? Besides, I don’t think he’s still there. He died years ago and they stuffed him up the chimney.”
Dill said, “Jem, you and me can play and Scout can watch if she’s scared.”
I was fairly sure Boo Radley was inside that house, but I couldn’t prove it, and felt it best to keep my mouth shut
or I would be accused of believing in Hot Steams, phenomena I was immune to in the daytime.
Jem parceled out our roles: I was Mrs. Radley, and all I had to do was come out and sweep the porch.
Dill was old Mr. Radley: he walked up and down the sidewalk and coughed when Jem spoke to him.
Jem, naturally, was Boo: he went under the front steps and shrieked and howled from time to time.
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