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           Atticuswouldsnapofftheradioandsay,"Hmp!"IaskedhimoncewhyhewasimpatientwithHitlerandAtticussaid,"Becausehe’samaniac."

           Thiswouldnotdo,Imused,astheclassproceededwithitssums.OnemaniacandmillionsofGermanfolks.Lookedtomelikethey’dshutHitlerinapeninsteadoflettinghimshutthemup.Therewassomethingelsewrong—Iwouldaskmyfatheraboutit.

           Idid,andhesaidhecouldnotpossiblyanswermyquestionbecausehedidn’tknowtheanswer.

           "Butit’sokaytohateHitler?"

           "Itisnot,"hesaid."It’snotokaytohateanybody."

           "Atticus,"Isaid,"there’ssomethin’Idon’tunderstand.MissGatessaiditwasawful,Hitlerdoin’likehedoes,shegotrealredinthefaceaboutit—"

           "Ishouldthinkshewould."

           "But—"

           "Yes?"

           "Nothing,sir."Iwentaway,notsurethatIcouldexplaintoAtticuswhatwasonmymind,notsurethatIcouldclarifywhatwasonlyafeeling.PerhapsJemcouldprovidetheanswer.JemunderstoodschoolthingsbetterthanAtticus.

           Jemwaswornoutfromaday’swater-carrying.Therewereatleasttwelvebananapeelsonthefloorbyhisbed,surroundinganemptymilkbottle."Whatchastuffin’for?"Iasked.

           "CoachsaysifIcangaintwenty-fivepoundsbyyearafternextIcanplay,"hesaid."Thisisthequickestway."

           "Ifyoudon’tthrowitallup.Jem,"Isaid,"Iwantaaskyousomethin’."

           "Shoot."Heputdownhisbookandstretchedhislegs.