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           "Don’tthinkhe’llgetintheRadleyyard,"saidAtticus."Fence’llstophim.He’llprobablyfollowtheroad...."

           Ithoughtmaddogsfoamedatthemouth,galloped,leapedandlungedatthroats,andIthoughttheydiditinAugust.HadTimJohnsonbehavedthus,Iwouldhavebeenlessfrightened.

           Nothingismoredeadlythanadeserted,waitingstreet.Thetreeswerestill,themockingbirdsweresilent,thecarpentersatMissMaudie’shousehadvanished.IheardMr.Tatesniff,thenblowhisnose.Isawhimshifthisguntothecrookofhisarm.IsawMissStephanieCrawford’sfaceframedintheglasswindowofherfrontdoor.MissMaudieappearedandstoodbesideher.Atticusputhisfootontherungofachairandrubbedhishandslowlydownthesideofhisthigh.

           "Thereheis,"hesaidsoftly.

           TimJohnsoncameintosight,walkingdazedlyintheinnerrimofthecurveparalleltotheRadleyhouse.

           "Lookathim,"whisperedJem."Mr.Hecksaidtheywalkedinastraightline.Hecan’tevenstayintheroad."

           "Helooksmoresickthananything,"Isaid.

           "Letanythinggetinfrontofhimandhe’llcomestraightatit."

           Mr.Tateputhishandtohisforeheadandleanedforward."He’sgotitallright,Mr.Finch."

           TimJohnsonwasadvancingatasnail’space,buthewasnotplayingorsniffingatfoliage:heseemeddedicatedtoonecourseandmotivatedbyaninvisibleforcethatwasinchinghimtowardus.