30 Chapter 30 (1/2)

”Mr. Arthur, honey,” said Atticus, gently correcting me. ”Jean Louise, this is Mr. ArthurRadley. I believe he already knows you.”

If Atticus could blandly introduce me to Boo Radley at a time like this, well—that wasAtticus.

Boo saw me run instinctively to the bed where Jem was sleeping, for the same shysmile crept across his face. Hot with embarrassment, I tried to cover up by covering Jemup.

”Ah-ah, don't touch him,” Atticus said.

Mr. Heck Tate sat looking intently at Boo through his horn-rimmed glasses. He wasabout to speak when Dr. Reynolds came down the hall.

”Everybody out,” he said, as he came in the door. ”Evenin', Arthur, didn't notice youthe first time I was here.”

Dr. Reynolds's voice was as breezy as his step, as though he had said it everyevening of his life, an announcement that astounded me even more than being in thesame room with Boo Radley. Of course… even Boo Radley got sick sometimes, Ithought. But on the other hand I wasn't sure.

Dr. Reynolds was carrying a big package wrapped in newspaper. He put it down onJem's desk and took off his coat. ”You're quite satisfied he's alive, now? Tell you how Iknew. When I tried to examine him he kicked me. Had to put him out good and proper totouch him. So scat,” he said to me.

”Er—” said Atticus, glancing at Boo. ”Heck, let's go out on the front porch. There areplenty of chairs out there, and it's still warm enough.”

I wondered why Atticus was inviting us to the front porch instead of the livingroom,then I understood. The livingroom lights were awfully strong.

We filed out, first Mr. Tate—Atticus was waiting at the door for him to go ahead of him.

Then he changed his mind and followed Mr. Tate.

People have a habit of doing everyday things even under the oddest conditions. I wasno exception: ”Come along, Mr. Arthur,” I heard myself saying, ”you don't know thehouse real well. I'll just take you to the porch, sir.”

He looked down at me and nodded.

I led him through the hall and past the livingroom.

”Won't you have a seat, Mr. Arthur? This rocking-chair's nice and comfortable.”

My small fantasy about him was alive again: he would be sitting on the porch… rightpretty spell we're having, isn't it, Mr. Arthur?

Yes, a right pretty spell. Feeling slightly unreal, I led him to the chair farthest fromAtticus and Mr. Tate. It was in deep shadow. Boo would feel more comfortable in thedark.

Atticus was sitting in the swing, and Mr. Tate was in a chair next to him. The light fromthe livingroom windows was strong on them. I sat beside Boo.

”Well, Heck,” Atticus was saying, ”I guess the thing to do—good Lord, I'm losing mymemory…” Atticus pushed up his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes. ”Jem'snot quite thirteen… no, he's already thirteen—I can't remember. Anyway, it'll comebefore county court—”

”What will, Mr. Finch?” Mr. Tate uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

”Of course it was clear-cut self defense, but I'll have to go to the office and hunt up—”

”Mr. Finch, do you think Jem killed Bob Ewell? Do you think that?”

”You heard what Scout said, there's no doubt about it. She said Jem got up andyanked him off her—he probably got hold of Ewell's knife somehow in the dark… we'llfind out tomorrow.”

”Mis-ter Finch, hold on,” said Mr. Tate. ”Jem never stabbed Bob Ewell.”

Atticus was silent for a moment. He looked at Mr. Tate as if he appreciated what hesaid. But Atticus shook his head.

”Heck, it's mighty kind of you and I know you're doing it from that good heart of yours,but don't start anything like that.”

Mr. Tate got up and went to the edge of the porch. He spat into the shrubbery, thenthrust his hands into his hip pockets and faced Atticus. ”Like what?” he said.

”I'm sorry if I spoke sharply, Heck,” Atticus said simply, ”but nobody's hushing this up.

I don't live that way.”

”Nobody's gonna hush anything up, Mr. Finch.”

Mr. Tate's voice was quiet, but his boots were planted so solidly on the porchfloorboards it seemed that they grew there. A curious contest, the nature of whicheluded me, was developing between my father and the sheriff.

It was Atticus's turn to get up and go to the edge of the porch. He said, ”H'rm,” andspat dryly into the yard. He put his hands in his pockets and faced Mr. Tate.

”Heck, you haven't said it, but I know what you're thinking. Thank you for it. JeanLouise—” he turned to me. ”You said Jem yanked Mr. Ewell off you?”

”Yes sir, that's what I thought… I—”

”See there, Heck? Thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't want my boystarting out with something like this over his head. Best way to clear the air is to have itall out in the open. Let the county come and bring sandwiches. I don't want him growingup with a whisper about him, I don't want anybody saying, 'Jem Finch… his daddy paida mint to get him out of that.' Sooner we get this over with the better.”

”Mr. Finch,” Mr. Tate said stolidly, ”Bob Ewell fell on his knife. He killed himself.”