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           Toreachthecourtroom,onthesecondfloor,onepassedsundrysunlesscountycubbyholes:thetaxessor,thetaxcollector,thecountyclerk,thecountysolicitor,thecircuitclerk,thejudgeofprobatelivedincooldimhutchesthatsmelledofdecayingrecordbooksmingledwitholddampcementandstaleurine.Itwasnecessarytoturnonthelightsinthedaytime;therewasalwaysafilmofdustontheroughfloorboards.Theinhabitantsoftheseofficeswerecreaturesoftheirenvironment:littlegray-facedmen,theyseemeduntouchedbywindorsun.

           Weknewtherewasacrowd,butwehadnotbargainedforthemultitudesinthefirst-floorhallway.IgotseparatedfromJemandDill,butmademywaytowardthewallbythestairwell,knowingJemwouldcomeformeeventually.IfoundmyselfinthemiddleoftheIdlers’Clubandmademyselfasunobtrusiveaspossible.Thiswasagroupofwhite-shirted,khaki-trousered,suspenderedoldmenwhohadspenttheirlivesdoingnothingandpassedtheirtwilightdaysdoingsameonpinebenchesundertheliveoaksonthesquare.Attentivecriticsofcourthousebusiness,AtticussaidtheyknewasmuchlawastheChiefJustice,fromlongyearsofobservation.Normally,theywerethecourt’sonlyspectators,andtodaytheyseemedresentfuloftheinterruptionoftheircomfortableroutine.Whentheyspoke,theirvoicessoundedcasuallyimportant.Theconversationwasaboutmyfather.

           "...thinksheknowswhathe’sdoing,"onesaid.