to-kill-a-mockingbird-by-harper-lee-pdf-free-download (1)
around I discovered that these men were strangers. They were not the people Isaw last night. Hot embarrassment shot through me: I had leaped triumphantlyinto a ring of people I had never seen before.Atticus got up from his chair, but he was moving slowly, like an old man. Heput the newspaper down very carefully, adjusting its creases with lingeringfingers. They were trembling a little.“Go home, Jem,” he said. “Take Scout and Dill home.”We were accustomed to prompt, if not always cheerful acquiescence toAtticus’s instructions, but from the way he stood Jem was not thinking ofbudging.“Go home, I said.”Jem shook his head. As Atticus’s fists went to his hips, so did Jem’s, and asthey faced each other I could see little resemblance between them: Jem’s softbrown hair and eyes, his oval face and snug-fitting ears were our mother’s,contrasting oddly with Atticus’s graying black hair and square-cut features, butthey were somehow alike. Mutual defiance made them alike.“Son, I said go home.”Jem shook his head.“I’ll send him home,” a burly man said, and grabbed Jem roughly by thecollar. He yanked Jem nearly off his feet.“Don’t you touch him!” I kicked the man swiftly. Barefooted, I was surprisedto see him fall back in real pain. I intended to kick his shin, but aimed too high.“That’ll do, Scout.” Atticus put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t kick folks.No—” he said, as I was pleading justification.“Ain’t nobody gonna do Jem that way,” I said.“All right, Mr. Finch, get ‘em outa here,” someone growled. “You got fifteenseconds to get ’em outa here.”In the midst of this strange assembly, Atticus stood trying to make Jem mindhim. “I ain’t going,” was his steady answer to Atticus’s threats, requests, andfinally, “Please Jem, take them home.”I was getting a bit tired of that, but felt Jem had his own reasons for doing ashe did, in view of his prospects once Atticus did get him home. I looked aroundthe crowd. It was a summer’s night, but the men were dressed, most of them, inoveralls and denim shirts buttoned up to the collars. I thought they must be coldnatured,as their sleeves were unrolled and buttoned at the cuffs. Some wore hats
pulled firmly down over their ears. They were sullen-looking, sleepy-eyed menwho seemed unused to late hours. I sought once more for a familiar face, and atthe center of the semi-circle I found one.“Hey, Mr. Cunningham.”The man did not hear me, it seemed.“Hey, Mr. Cunningham. How’s your entailment gettin‘ along?”Mr. Walter Cunningham’s legal affairs were well known to me; Atticus hadonce described them at length. The big man blinked and hooked his thumbs inhis overall straps. He seemed uncomfortable; he cleared his throat and lookedaway. My friendly overture had fallen flat.Mr. Cunningham wore no hat, and the top half of his forehead was white incontrast to his sunscorched face, which led me to believe that he wore one mostdays. He shifted his feet, clad in heavy work shoes.“Don’t you remember me, Mr. Cunningham? I’m Jean Louise Finch. Youbrought us some hickory nuts one time, remember?” I began to sense the futilityone feels when unacknowledged by a chance acquaintance.“I go to school with Walter,” I began again. “He’s your boy, ain’t he? Ain’the, sir?”Mr. Cunningham was moved to a faint nod. He did know me, after all.“He’s in my grade,” I said, “and he does right well. He’s a good boy,” Iadded, “a real nice boy. We brought him home for dinner one time. Maybe hetold you about me, I beat him up one time but he was real nice about it. Tell himhey for me, won’t you?”Atticus had said it was the polite thing to talk to people about what they wereinterested in, not about what you were interested in. Mr. Cunningham displayedno interest in his son, so I tackled his entailment once more in a last-ditch effortto make him feel at home.“Entailments are bad,” I was advising him, when I slowly awoke to the factthat I was addressing the entire aggregation. The men were all looking at me,some had their mouths half-open. Atticus had stopped poking at Jem: they werestanding together beside Dill. Their attention amounted to fascination. Atticus’smouth, even, was half-open, an attitude he had once described as uncouth. Oureyes met and he shut it.“Well, Atticus, I was just sayin‘ to Mr. Cunningham that entailments are badan’ all that, but you said not to worry, it takes a long time sometimes . . . that youall’d ride it out together . . .” I was slowly drying up, wondering what idiocy I
- Page 97 and 98: Mr. Tate turned around. “He’s f
- Page 99 and 100: crazy. I’d hate to see Harry John
- Page 101 and 102: 11When we were small, Jem and I con
- Page 103 and 104: the reform school before next week,
- Page 105 and 106: “Jem,” he said, “are you resp
- Page 107 and 108: The following Monday afternoon Jem
- Page 109 and 110: lot.”“She can’t help that. Wh
- Page 111 and 112: Jem’s chin would come up, and he
- Page 113 and 114: PART TWO
- Page 115 and 116: write.The fact that I had a permane
- Page 117 and 118: Purchase because it was paid for fr
- Page 119 and 120: windows.He said, “Brethren and si
- Page 121 and 122: intended to sweat the amount due ou
- Page 123 and 124: you take off the fact that men can
- Page 125 and 126: 13"Put my bag in the front bedroom,
- Page 127 and 128: When she settled in with us and lif
- Page 129 and 130: way: the older citizens, the presen
- Page 131 and 132: Stunned, Jem and I looked at each o
- Page 133 and 134: I remembered something. “Yessum,
- Page 135 and 136: now, for my edification and instruc
- Page 137 and 138: engaged to wash the camel. He trave
- Page 139 and 140: I put on my pajamas, read for a whi
- Page 141 and 142: 15After many telephone calls, much
- Page 143 and 144: you, didn’t they?”Atticus lower
- Page 145 and 146: correct to believe one’s mind inc
- Page 147: until we were in the shelter of the
- Page 151 and 152: going home, but I was wrong. As the
- Page 153 and 154: She waited until Calpurnia was in t
- Page 155 and 156: said that’s the way his folks sig
- Page 157 and 158: “Then why does he do like that?
- Page 159 and 160: from long years of observation. Nor
- Page 161 and 162: what grounds, Judge Taylor said,
- Page 163 and 164: as you go in. She was pretty well b
- Page 165 and 166: finger marks on her gullet—”“
- Page 167 and 168: people turned around in the Negroes
- Page 169 and 170: Reverend Sykes’s black eyes were
- Page 171 and 172: “No, I mean her physical conditio
- Page 173 and 174: that he was a Christ-fearing man an
- Page 175 and 176: “Mr. Finch?”She nodded vigorous
- Page 177 and 178: you’ve already said before, but y
- Page 179 and 180: “Except when he’s drinking?”
- Page 181 and 182: good long look at you. Is this the
- Page 183 and 184: No answer.“Did you scream first a
- Page 185 and 186: 19Thomas Robinson reached around, r
- Page 187 and 188: Radley, who had not been out of the
- Page 189 and 190: on me.”“Jumped on you? Violentl
- Page 191 and 192: “Yes suh.”“What’d the nigge
- Page 193 and 194: “I says I was scared, suh.”“I
- Page 195 and 196: 20“Come on round here, son, I got
- Page 197 and 198: edged our way along the balcony rai
around I discovered that these men were strangers. They were not the people I
saw last night. Hot embarrassment shot through me: I had leaped triumphantly
into a ring of people I had never seen before.
Atticus got up from his chair, but he was moving slowly, like an old man. He
put the newspaper down very carefully, adjusting its creases with lingering
fingers. They were trembling a little.
“Go home, Jem,” he said. “Take Scout and Dill home.”
We were accustomed to prompt, if not always cheerful acquiescence to
Atticus’s instructions, but from the way he stood Jem was not thinking of
budging.
“Go home, I said.”
Jem shook his head. As Atticus’s fists went to his hips, so did Jem’s, and as
they faced each other I could see little resemblance between them: Jem’s soft
brown hair and eyes, his oval face and snug-fitting ears were our mother’s,
contrasting oddly with Atticus’s graying black hair and square-cut features, but
they were somehow alike. Mutual defiance made them alike.
“Son, I said go home.”
Jem shook his head.
“I’ll send him home,” a burly man said, and grabbed Jem roughly by the
collar. He yanked Jem nearly off his feet.
“Don’t you touch him!” I kicked the man swiftly. Barefooted, I was surprised
to see him fall back in real pain. I intended to kick his shin, but aimed too high.
“That’ll do, Scout.” Atticus put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t kick folks.
No—” he said, as I was pleading justification.
“Ain’t nobody gonna do Jem that way,” I said.
“All right, Mr. Finch, get ‘em outa here,” someone growled. “You got fifteen
seconds to get ’em outa here.”
In the midst of this strange assembly, Atticus stood trying to make Jem mind
him. “I ain’t going,” was his steady answer to Atticus’s threats, requests, and
finally, “Please Jem, take them home.”
I was getting a bit tired of that, but felt Jem had his own reasons for doing as
he did, in view of his prospects once Atticus did get him home. I looked around
the crowd. It was a summer’s night, but the men were dressed, most of them, in
overalls and denim shirts buttoned up to the collars. I thought they must be coldnatured,
as their sleeves were unrolled and buttoned at the cuffs. Some wore hats
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