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           "Huh?"

           "Youreckonweoughtawritealettertowhoever’sleavingusthesethings?"

           "That’dberightnice,Jem,wecanthank‘em—what’swrong?"

           Jemwasholdinghisears,shakinghisheadfromsidetoside."Idon’tgetit,Ijustdon’tgetit—Idon’tknowwhy,Scout..."Helookedtowardthelivingroom."I’vegottagoodmindtotellAtticus—no,Ireckonnot."

           "I’lltellhimforyou."

           "No,don’tdothat,Scout.Scout?"

           "Wha-t?"

           Hehadbeenonthevergeoftellingmesomethingallevening;hisfacewouldbrightenandhewouldleantowardme,thenhewouldchangehismind.Hechangeditagain."Oh,nothin’."

           "Here,let’swritealetter."Ipushedatabletandpencilunderhisnose.

           "Okay.DearMister..."

           "Howdoyouknowit’saman?Ibetit’sMissMaudie—beenbettin’thatforalongtime."

           "Ar-r,MissMaudiecan’tchewgum—"Jembrokeintoagrin."Youknow,shecantalkrealprettysometimes.OnetimeIaskedhertohaveachewandshesaidnothanks,that—chewinggumcleavedtoherpalateandrenderedherspeechless,"saidJemcarefully."Doesn’tthatsoundnice?"