Mr. Nathan Radley was standing inside his gate, a shotgun broken across his arm. Atticus was standing beside Miss Maudie and Miss Stephanie Crawford. Miss Rachel and Mr. Avery were near by. None of them saw us come up.

We eased in beside Miss Maudie, who looked around. Where were you all, didnt you hear the commotion?

What happened? asked Jem.

Mr. Radley shot at a Negro in his collard patch.

Oh. Did he hit him?

No, said Miss Stephanie. Shot in the air. Scared him pale, though. Says if anybody sees a white nigger around, thats the one. Says hes got the other barrel waitin for the next sound he hears in that patch, an next time he wont aim high, be it dog, nigger, orJem Finch!

Maam? asked Jem.

Atticus spoke. Wherere your pants, son?

Pants, sir?

Pants.

It was no use. In his shorts before God and everybody. I sighed.

AhMr. Finch?

In the glare from the streetlight, I could see Dill hatching one: his eyes widened, his fat cherub face grew rounder.

What is it, Dill? asked Atticus.

AhI won em from him, he said vaguely.

Won them? How?

Dills hand sought the back of his head. He brought it forward and across his forehead. We were playin strip poker up yonder by the fishpool, he said.

Jem and I relaxed. The neighbors seemed satisfied: they all stiffened. But what was strip poker?

We had no chance to find out: Miss Rachel went off like the town fire siren: Do-o-o Jee-sus, Dill Harris! Gamblin by my fishpool? Ill strip-poker you, sir!

Atticus saved Dill from immediate dismemberment. Just a minute, Miss Rachel, he said. Ive never heard of em doing that before. Were you all playing cards?

Jem fielded Dills fly with his eyes shut: No sir, just with matches.

I admired my brother. Matches were dangerous, but cards were fatal.

Jem, Scout, said Atticus, I dont want to hear of poker in any form again. Go by Dills and get your pants, Jem. Settle it yourselves.

Dont worry, Dill, said Jem, as we trotted up the sidewalk, she aint gonna get you. Hell talk her out of it. That was fast thinkin, son. Listen . . . you hear?

We stopped, and heard Atticuss voice: . . . not serious . . . they all go through it, Miss Rachel. . . .

Dill was comforted, but Jem and I werent. There was the problem of Jem showing up some pants in the morning.

d give you some of mine, said Dill, as we came to Miss Rachels steps. Jem said he couldnt get in them, but thanks anyway. We said good-bye, and Dill went inside the house. He evidently remembered he was engaged to me, for he ran back out and kissed me swiftly in front of Jem. Yawl write, hear? he bawled after us.

Had Jems pants been safely on him, we would not have slept much anyway. Every night-sound I heard from my cot on the back porch was magnified three-fold; every scratch of feet on gravel was Boo Radley seeking revenge, every passing Negro laughing in the night was Boo Radley loose and after us; insects splashing against the screen were Boo Radleys insane fingers picking the wire to pieces; the china-berry trees were malignant, hovering, alive. I lingered between sleep and wakefulness until I heard Jem murmur.

Sleep, Little Three-Eyes?

Are you crazy?

Sh-h. Atticuss lights out.

In the waning moonlight I saw Jem swing his feet to the floor.

Im goin after em, he said.

I sat upright. You cant. I wont let you.

He was struggling into his shirt. Ive got to.

You do an Ill wake up Atticus.

You do and Ill kill you.

I pulled him down beside me on the cot. I tried to reason with him. Mr. Nathans gonna find em in the morning, Jem. He knows you lost em. When he shows em to Atticus itll be pretty bad, thats all there is to it. Gon back to bed.

Thats what I know, said Jem. Thats why Im goin after em.

I began to feel sick. Going back to that place by himselfI remembered Miss Stephanie: Mr. Nathan had the other barrel waiting for the next sound he heard, be it nigger, dog . . . Jem knew that better than I.