"If you'll concede the necessity of going to school, we'll go on reading every night just as we always have. Is it a bargain?"
"We'll consider it sealed without the usual formality," Atticus said, when he saw me preparing to spit.
As I opened the front screen door Atticus said, "By the way, Scout, you'd better not say anything at school about our agreement."
"I'm afraid our activities would be received with considerable disapprobation by the more learned authorities."
Jem and I were accustomed to our father's last-will-and-testament diction, and we were at all times free to interrupt Atticus for a translation when it was beyond our understanding.
"I never went to school," he said, "but I have a feeling that if you tell Miss Caroline we read every night she'll get after me, and I wouldn't want her after me."
Atticus kept us in fits that evening, gravely reading columns of print about a man who sat on a flagpole for no discernible reason, which was reason enough for Jem to spend the following Saturday aloft in the treehouse. Jem sat from after breakfast until sunset and would have remained overnight had not Atticus severed his supply lines. I had spent most of the day climbing up and down, running errands for him, providing him with literature, nourishment and water, and was carrying him blankets for the night when Atticus said if I paid no attention to him, Jem would come down. Atticus was right.