But did that explain the town’s attitude? The court appointed Atticus to defend him. Atticus aimed to defend him.
That’s what they didn’t like about it. It was confusing.
The Negroes, having waited for the white people to go upstairs, began to come in.
“Whoa now, just a minute,” said a club member, holding up his walking stick. “Just don’t start up them there stairs yet awhile.”
The club began its stiff-jointed climb and ran into Dill and Jem on their way down looking for me.
They squeezed past and Jem called, “Scout, come on, there ain’t a seat left. We’ll hafta stand up.”
“Looka there, now.” he said irritably, as the black people surged upstairs.
The old men ahead of them would take most of the standing room. We were out of luck and it was my fault, Jem informed me.
We stood miserably by the wall. “Can’t you all get in?” Reverend Sykes was looking down at us, black hat in hand.
“Hey, Reverend,” said Jem. “Naw, Scout here messed us up.”
“Well, let’s see what we can do.” Reverend Sykes edged his way upstairs. In a few moments he was back.
“There’s not a seat downstairs. Do you all reckon it’ll be all right if you all came to the balcony with me?”
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