--Journal # 3--
Chapters 10-11
Calpurnia
It seems like lately both Jem and Scout have been real upset and worried about old Atticus. They always be wanting him to go out in the yard and wrestle, or do something absurd like play football. They know he's to old for that kind of thing. There's no reason to be bitter about it. Frankly, I am quite disappointed in them. Well, I suppose it's not really their fault. Their school contemporaries all have young fathers who probably love to prance around the yard with them all day. They are also probably upset and a little remorse about him because I am sure that he isn't the most inconspicuous person in the town right know. What with all the talk about him defending a Negro. Personally, I am glad he is up there defending Mr. Tom Robinson. He is a fine gentlemen and had been part of our church for as long as I have! It is just wrong the way they treat us black people nowadays. Ridiculous. They are all saying that Mr. Ewell's daughter was in peril or something along that lines. I don't believe it one bit. Not one bit. Anyway, back to what I was saying before I got sidetracked, If only those kids knew what good of a shot their old father is. They would be the proudest kids in all of Maycomb. If they knew their daddy was old "One shot Finch" I wonder how long it's been since he's ever picked up a gun. I bet he'll never touch one again.
Today I had the shock of my life. It practically flat out contradicted what I wrote before. I was just in the kitchen minding my own business when Mister Jem comes running in howling about a dog. A dog! No one worries about a dog in February for goodness sakes. If this had been August, then maybe people would have expected it more. But when I realized that the kids were right, and had phoned up Mr. Finch, the police, and Eula May, and was running around warning people like a crazy person, I realized that people probably thought that I was crazy. But it didn't matter. I still needed to warn them. I heard Jem behind me and whipped around to order him inside. His lips moved, but his words were inaudible. Probably scared to death, poor child. "Get inside!" I hollered at him. He turned, grabbed Scout by the cuff of her dress and dragged her inside. Right around them Mr. Finch showed up with the Hector Tate, the sheriff.A few minutes later they were arguing, well not quite arguing, (Mr. Finch is way to calm for that) more like discussing who would shoot the mad dog. Mr. Tate didn't want to be the one. They had one shot, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to aim well enough. So Mr. Finch, mumbling about how he hadn't shot anything in years, scooped up the gun and marched out into the street. Then it was like slow motion. His glasses fell from his face and hit the floor as he raised the gun to his shoulder. He took aim quickly then pulled the trigger. The dog fell dead. I turned around and saw two bewildered faces peeking out from around the screen door. Hah! That would show them what their daddy was capable of , I thought.
Today I had the shock of my life. It practically flat out contradicted what I wrote before. I was just in the kitchen minding my own business when Mister Jem comes running in howling about a dog. A dog! No one worries about a dog in February for goodness sakes. If this had been August, then maybe people would have expected it more. But when I realized that the kids were right, and had phoned up Mr. Finch, the police, and Eula May, and was running around warning people like a crazy person, I realized that people probably thought that I was crazy. But it didn't matter. I still needed to warn them. I heard Jem behind me and whipped around to order him inside. His lips moved, but his words were inaudible. Probably scared to death, poor child. "Get inside!" I hollered at him. He turned, grabbed Scout by the cuff of her dress and dragged her inside. Right around them Mr. Finch showed up with the Hector Tate, the sheriff.A few minutes later they were arguing, well not quite arguing, (Mr. Finch is way to calm for that) more like discussing who would shoot the mad dog. Mr. Tate didn't want to be the one. They had one shot, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to aim well enough. So Mr. Finch, mumbling about how he hadn't shot anything in years, scooped up the gun and marched out into the street. Then it was like slow motion. His glasses fell from his face and hit the floor as he raised the gun to his shoulder. He took aim quickly then pulled the trigger. The dog fell dead. I turned around and saw two bewildered faces peeking out from around the screen door. Hah! That would show them what their daddy was capable of , I thought.
Fiona, I liked the way you talked about Scout and Jems feelings about Atticus and how he isnt the most athletic dad. Especially from Calpurnias point of view. Also the way you talked about the Tom Robinson case and how she feels about Atticus defending him. Once again, great job!
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