“Jem, Scout,” said Atticus, “I don’t want to hear of poker in any form again. Go by Dill’s and get your pants, Jem. Settle it yourselves.” “Don’t worry, Dill,” said Jem, as we trotted up the sidewalk, “she ain’t gonna get you. He’ll talk her out of it. That was fast thinkin’, son. Listen . . . you hear?” We stopped, and heard Atticus’s voice: “. . . not serious . . . they all go through it, Miss Rachel.
