“Come on,” I whispered to Scout, grabbing her hand and running across the square. We ran a certain distance and pacing ourselves, Scout was fidgeting to go farther, but I knew better to wait for a minute. Maybe adrenaline, maybe nervousness, I don't know what it is but my stomachs in a knot. I inhaled and exhaled and peeked up the sidewalk. “We can get closer.” I tightened my grip on Scout’s hand and we ran back out into the darkness. I had that feeling that we couldn’t make a fuss, that we’d get in trouble. Told to go home. I wasn't going to have it.
Men got out of their cars, alone or in ugly pairs, wishin’ it was shadows moving towards the jail door, but they were solid figures. Atticus stayed put where he was, the men blocking our view of him. …show more content…
Finch?” a man said.
“He is,” we heard Atticus answer, “and he’s asleep. Don’t wake him up.”
Atticus’ voice was serious and unrelenting, but the men talked in near-whispers.
“You know what we want,” another man said. “Get aside from the door, Mr. Finch.”
“You can turn around and go home again, Walter,” Atticus said in a considerate manner, as if the trouble was above him, which, knowing Atticus, it was. “Heck Tate’s around somewhere.”
“The hell he is,” said another man. “Heck’s bunch’s so deep in the woods, they won’t get out till mornin’.”
“Indeed? Why so?”
“Called ’em off on a snipe hunt,” was the brief and clearly expressed, short and sweet answer. “Didn’t you think a’ that, Mr. Finch?”
“Thought about it, but didn’t believe it. Well then.” My father’s voice was still the same, brilliant, intelligent, sophisticated. “That changes things, doesn’t it?”
“It do,” another deep voice said. I tried to see who it was, but its owner was a