To Kill A Mockingbird Journal Four

Journal #4

Chapters 10-11

Perspective of Jem

Journal,

I just can't stop thinking about that rifle in Atticus's hands, how he pulled the trigger with one fluid motion and the way that mad dog crumpled on the sidewalk. It was amazing how he swiftly he pulled the trigger and raised the gun to his shoulder, and without his glasses! Whenever me and Scout shoot it takes me ten minutes to aim. But Atticus just relaxed all over and the gun looked like a part of him. I had never even known he could shoot; the skill had been inconspicuous until now. I had thought that since he didn't like guns and rifles so much that he couldn't shoot from a foot away. But boy! That mad dog was a'most a street away! Miss Maudie told me he don't like guns because with him and his talent, he feels it gives him an unfair advantage over living creature. Scout tried to contradict her, but I knew Atticus was a gentleman and I r'spected him for it. I guess I'm a gentleman, just like him!

Me an' Scout were walkin' to go use up my birthday money the other day when we went past Ms. Dubose house. That cantankerous old bat started yellin' at us (as usual) but this time she started talking about Atticus. She started calling him names and giving us grief for how he was defending a Negro. When she went and said that I urged tell her off, but I held my tongue, trying to be a gentleman. But when she said Atticus was do better than the trash that he worked for, that really set me off. Coming back from town I grabbed Scout's new baton and started hacking her camellia bushes 'til they were nothing but twigs. After that I dragged Scout home and waited, in dread, for Atticus to come home. When the door slammed I heard him call my name with a voice so cold it could make ice cubes. I knew then that I was in more peril then than with Ms. Dubose and her CSA pistol. Atticus told be to go and apologize to her, and as a result I got sentenced to mendin' her bushes every Saturday and readin' to her for two hours each day for a whole month. As she lashed out my punishment I could do nothing but mumble inaudibly; if I opposed her Atticus would surely get my goat.

Now I will be in my own personal hell each day, tryin' to keep my calm inside that ratty old lady's house until summer. Hope I live that long.

Jem Finch