“Whatcha readin’?” I asked. Atticus turned the book over. “Something of Jem’s. Called The Gray Ghost.” I was suddenly awake. “Why’d you get that one?” “Honey, I don’t know. Just picked it up. One of the few things I haven’t read,” he said pointedly. “Read it out loud, please, Atticus. It’s real scary.” “No,” he said. “You’ve had enough scaring for a while. This is too—” “Atticus, I wasn’t scared.” He raised his eyebrows, and I protested: “Leastways not till I started telling Mr. Tate about it. Jem wasn’t scared. Asked him and he said he wasn’t. Besides, nothin’s real scary except in books.”
