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Jem
said
,
"
I
reckon
if
he
’
d
wanted
us
to
know
it
,
he
’
da
told
us
.
If
he
was
proud
of
it
,
he
’
da
told
us
.
"
"
Maybe
it
just
slipped
his
mind
,
"
I
said
.
"
Naw
,
Scout
,
it
’
s
something
you
wouldn
’
t
understand
.
Atticus
is
real
old
,
but
I
wouldn
’
t
care
if
he
couldn
’
t
do
anything
—
I
wouldn
’
t
care
if
he
couldn
’
t
do
a
blessed
thing
.
"
Jem
picked
up
a
rock
and
threw
it
jubilantly
at
the
carhouse
.
Running
after
it
,
he
called
back
:
"
Atticus
is
a
gentleman
,
just
like
me
!
"
When
we
were
small
,
Jem
and
I
confined
our
activities
to
the
southern
neighborhood
,
but
when
I
was
well
into
the
second
grade
at
school
and
tormenting
Boo
Radley
became
passe
,
the
business
section
of
Maycomb
drew
us
frequently
up
the
street
past
the
real
property
of
Mrs
.
Henry
Lafayette
Dubose
.
It
was
impossible
to
go
to
town
without
passing
her
house
unless
we
wished
to
walk
a
mile
out
of
the
way
.
Previous
minor
encounters
with
her
left
me
with
no
desire
for
more
,
but
Jem
said
I
had
to
grow
up
some
time
.
Mrs
.
Dubose
lived
alone
except
for
a
Negro
girl
in
constant
attendance
,
two
doors
up
the
street
from
us
in
a
house
with
steep
front
steps
and
a
dog
-
trot
hall
.
She
was
very
old
;
she
spent
most
of
each
day
in
bed
and
the
rest
of
it
in
a
wheelchair
.
It
was
rumored
that
she
kept
a
CSA
pistol
concealed
among
her
numerous
shawls
and
wraps
.
Jem
and
I
hated
her
.
If
she
was
on
the
porch
when
we
passed
,
we
would
be
raked
by
her
wrathful
gaze
,
subjected
to
ruthless
interrogation
regarding
our
behavior
,
and
given
a
melancholy
prediction
on
what
we
would
amount
to
when
we
grew
up
,
which
was
always
nothing
.
We
had
long
ago
given
up
the
idea
of
walking
past
her
house
on
the
opposite
side
of
the
street
;
that
only
made
her
raise
her
voice
and
let
the
whole
neighborhood
in
on
it
.
We
could
do
nothing
to
please
her
.
If
I
said
as
sunnily
as
I
could
,
"
Hey
,
Mrs
.
Dubose
,
"
I
would
receive
for
an
answer
,
"
Don
’
t
you
say
hey
to
me
,
you
ugly
girl
!
You
say
good
afternoon
,
Mrs
.
Dubose
!
"
She
was
vicious
.
Once
she
heard
Jem
refer
to
our
father
as
"
Atticus
"
and
her
reaction
was
apoplectic
.
Besides
being
the
sassiest
,
most
disrespectful
mutts
who
ever
passed
her
way
,
we
were
told
that
it
was
quite
a
pity
our
father
had
not
remarried
after
our
mother
’
s
death
.
A
lovelier
lady
than
our
mother
never
lived
,
she
said
,
and
it
was
heartbreaking
the
way
Atticus
Finch
let
her
children
run
wild
.
I
did
not
remember
our
mother
,
but
Jem
did
—
he
would
tell
me
about
her
sometimes
—
and
he
went
livid
when
Mrs
.
Dubose
shot
us
this
message
.
