I was excited about summer because that meant I would be going to Maycomb to see Jem and Scout. I wonder what we would do this summer and what had happened to Boo Radley. I arrived in Maycomb two days later in a blaze of glory. I had ridden the train all by myself from Meridian to Maycomb Junction (a courtesy title- Maycomb Junction was in Abbot County) where I had been met by Miss Rachel in Maycomb’s one taxi; I had eaten dinner in the diner. I didn’t wear anymore those blue shorts that were buttoned to my shirts now I wore real short pants with belt. When I arrived I told Jem and Scout that I had seen two twin sisters hitched together get off the train in Bay St; also I told them that I had seen my dad. My dad is president of the L & N Railroad; he is probably taller than Atticus and has a black beard. As we were talking, Jem asked Scout and I what we would wanted to play today but all of us seemed tired. Suddenly, I started staring over at the Radley Place and told Scout that I could smell dead thanks to an old lady that taught me. After that, Jem said that Scout and I acted like if we believed in Hot Steams but I didn’t know what a Hot Steam was so I asked, “What’s a Hot Steam?”
“Haven’t you ever walked along a lonesome road at night and passed by a hot place?” Jem asked. “A Hot Steam’s somebody who can’t get to heaven, just wallows around on lonesome roads an’ if you walk through him, when you die you’ll be one too an’ you’ll go around at night suckin’ people’s breath-”
“How can you keep from passing through one?” I asked.
“You can’t,” said Jem. “Sometimes they stretch all the way across the road, but if you hafta go through one you say ‘Angel-bright, life-in-death; get off the road, don’t suck my breath.’ That keeps ’em from wrapping around you-”
“Don’t you believe a word he says, Dill,” said Scout. “Calpurnia says that’s nigger-talk.”
Jem scowled darkly at Scout, but said, “Well, are we gonna play anything or not?”
“Let’s roll in the tire,” Scout suggested.
Jem sighed and said, “You know I’m too big.”
“You c’n push,” said Scout.
Scout ran to the back yard and pulled an old car tire from under the house. She slapped it up to the front yard. “I’m first,” she said.
I said I ought to be first because I just got here.
Jem arbitrated, awarded Scout the first push with extra time for me. Jem pushed the tire down the sidewalk with all the force in his body. A little after that Jem and I started chasing the tire. Suddenly, the tire bumped on gravel, skeetered across the road, crashed into a barrier and popped Scout like a cork onto pavement. Scout lay on the cement and shook her head still. Later Jem said, “Scout, get away from there, come on!”
Scout raised her head and stared at the Radley Place steps.
“Come on, Scout, don’t just lie there!” Jem screamed. “Get up, can’tcha?”
“Get the tire!” Jem hollered. “Bring it with you! Ain’t you got any sense at all?”
“Why didn’t you bring it?” Jem yelled.
“Why don’t you get it?” Scout screamed.
“Go on, it ain’t far inside the gate. Why, you even touched the house once remember?” Scout said.
Jem ran down the sidewalk, treaded water at the gate, then dashed in and retrieved the tire.
Calpurnia appeared in the front door and yelled, “Lemonade time! You all get outa that hot sun ’fore you fry alive!” Calpurnia set a pitcher and three glasses on the porch, then went about her business.
Jem gulped down his second glassful and slapped his chest and said that he knew what we could play; he said we could play a game called Boo Radley. Later, Jem parceled out our roles: Scout was Mrs. Radley, I was old Mr. Radley: I walked up and down the sidewalk and coughed when Jem spoke to me. Jem, naturally, was Boo.
As the summer progressed, so did our game. We polished and perfected it, added dialogue and plot until we had manufactured a small play upon which we rang changes everyday. One day we were so busily playing Chapter XXV, Book II of One Man’s Family, we did not see Atticus standing on the sidewalk looking at us, slapping a rolled magazine against his knee. The sun said twelve noon.
“What are you all playing?” he asked
“Nothing,” said Jem.
Jem’s evasion told Scout and I that our game was a secret, so we kept quiet.
“What are you doing with those scissors, then? Why are you tearing up that newspaper? If it’s today’s I’ll tan you.”
“Nothing,” said Jem.
“Nothing what?” said Atticus.
“Nothing, sir,” said Jem.
“Give me those scissors,” Atticus said. “They’re no things to play with. Does this by any chance have anything to do with the Radleys?”
“No sir,” said Jem, reddening.
“I hope it doesn’t,” Atticus said shortly, and went inside the house.
Safely in the yard, I asked Jem if we could play any more.
“I don’t know. Atticus didn’t say we couldn’t-”
I remember asking Scout earlier in the summer to marry me, but later I just forgot about it. I remember Scout beating me up twice so I just grew closer to Jem. Jem and I would spend days together in the treehouse plotting and planning, calling Scout only when we needed a third party. I could see that Scout would spend most of her time with Miss Maudie now that Jem and I grew closer to each other. Jem told me that Miss Maudie was a widow, a chameleon lady who worked in her flower beds in an old straw hat and men’s coveralls, but after her five o’clock bath she would appear on the porch and reign over the street in magisterial beauty.
Next morning Jem and I were in the back yard deep in conversation. When Scout joined us, as usual we said go away.
“Will not. This yard’s as much mine as it is yours, Jem Finch. I got just as much right to play in it as you have,” said Scout.
Jem and I emerged from a brief huddle: “If you stay you’ve got to do what we tell you,” I warned.
Scout agreed so Jem and I told her about our plan to give a note to Boo inviting him out to get ice cream with us. We told her that we would try to stick the note in a window of the Radley Place with a fishing pole but as we started doing it Atticus cached us and ordered us to “stop tormenting that man” with either notes or the “Boo Radley” game.
“You want to be a lawyer, don’t you?” said Atticus. Atticus’s mouth was suspiciously firm, as if he were trying to hold it in line.
Jem decided there was no point in quibbling, and was silent.
Jem and Scout were coming tonight to sit by Miss Rachel’s fishpool with me, as this was my last night in Maycomb.
“Cross in it tonight?” I asked, not looking up. I was constructing a cigarette from newspaper and string.
“No just the lady. Don’t light that thing, Dill, you’ll stink up this whole end of town,” said Jem.
“We’re gonna miss you, boy,” Scout said. “Reckon we better watch for Mr. Avery?”
“I know what, let’s go for a walk,” said Jem.
“Where to, Dill?” said Scout.
I jerked my head in a southerly direction.
Jem said, “Okay.” When Scout protested, Jem said sweetly, “You don’t have to come along, Angel May.”
“You don’t have to go. Remember-”
“Scout, we ain’t gonna do anything, we’re just goin’ to the street light and back,” said Jem.
We strolled silently down the sidewalk, listening to porch swings creaking with the weight of the neighborhood, listening to the soft night-murmurs of the grown people on our street. Occasionally we heard Miss Stephanie Crawford laugh.
“Well?” I said.
“Okay,” said Jem. “Why don’t you go on home, Scout?”
“What are you gonna do?” asked Scout.
Jem and I were simply going to peep in the window with the loose shutter to see if we could get a look at Boo Radley, and if Scout didn’t want to go with us she could go straight home.
“But what in the sam holy hill did you wait till tonight?” asked Scout.
Because nobody could see us at night, because if Boo Radley killed us we’d miss school instead of vacation, and because it was easier to see inside a dark house in the dark than in the daytime.
“Jem, please-” said Scout.
“Scout, I’m tellin’ you for the last time, shut your trap or go home- I declare to the Lord you’re getting’ more like a girl every day!” said Jem.
With that, Scout had no option but to join us. We creep around the house, peering through various windows.
“Let’s try the back window,” I said.
“Dill, no,” Scout said.
I stopped and let Jem go ahead. When Jem put his foot on the bottom step, the step squeaked. He stood still, and then tried his weight by degrees. The step was silent. Jem skipped two steps, put his foot on the porch, heaved himself to it, and teetered a long moment. He crawled to the window, raised his head and looked in.
Suddenly, we saw the shadow of a man with a hat on and flee, and we heard a shotgun go off behind us. We escaped under the fence by the schoolyard, but Jem’s pants got caught on the fence, and he had to kick them off in order to free himself. We return home, where we encounter a collection of neighborhood adults, including Atticus, Miss Maudie, and Miss Stephanie Crawford, the neighborhood gossip. Miss Maudie informed us that Mr. Nathan Radley shot at “a negro” in his yard. Miss Stephanie added that Mr. Radley would be waiting outside with his gun so he can shoot at the next sound he hears. Later, Atticus noticed that Jem had no pants on so he asked Jem where his pants where, I interjected that I won Jem’s pants in a game of strip poker. Alarmed, Atticus asked us if we were playing cards but Jem responded that we were just playing with matches.
“Jem, Scout,” said Atticus, “I don’t want to hear of poker in any form again. Go by Dill’s and get your pants, Jem. Settle it yourselves.”
“Don’t worry, Dill,” said Jem, as we trotted up the sidewalk, “she ain’t gonna get you. He’ll talk her out of it. That was fast thinkin’, son. Listen….you hear?”
We stopped, and heard Atticus’s voice: “…not serious … they all go through it Miss Rachel…”
I was comforted, but Jem and Scout weren’t. There was the problem of Jem showing up some pants in the morning.
“ ’d give you some of mine,” I said, as we came to Miss Rachel’s steps. Jem said he couldn’t get in them, but thanks anyway. Scout and Jem said good-bye, and I went inside the house. I evidently remembered I was engaged to Scout, for I ran back out and kissed her swiftly in front of Jem. “Yawl write, hear?” he bawled after us. Later, I went to bed and as I was falling asleep I remembered all the fun times I spend with Jem and Scout this summer.
“Haven’t you ever walked along a lonesome road at night and passed by a hot place?” Jem asked. “A Hot Steam’s somebody who can’t get to heaven, just wallows around on lonesome roads an’ if you walk through him, when you die you’ll be one too an’ you’ll go around at night suckin’ people’s breath-”
“How can you keep from passing through one?” I asked.
“You can’t,” said Jem. “Sometimes they stretch all the way across the road, but if you hafta go through one you say ‘Angel-bright, life-in-death; get off the road, don’t suck my breath.’ That keeps ’em from wrapping around you-”
“Don’t you believe a word he says, Dill,” said Scout. “Calpurnia says that’s nigger-talk.”
Jem scowled darkly at Scout, but said, “Well, are we gonna play anything or not?”
“Let’s roll in the tire,” Scout suggested.
Jem sighed and said, “You know I’m too big.”
“You c’n push,” said Scout.
Scout ran to the back yard and pulled an old car tire from under the house. She slapped it up to the front yard. “I’m first,” she said.
I said I ought to be first because I just got here.
Jem arbitrated, awarded Scout the first push with extra time for me. Jem pushed the tire down the sidewalk with all the force in his body. A little after that Jem and I started chasing the tire. Suddenly, the tire bumped on gravel, skeetered across the road, crashed into a barrier and popped Scout like a cork onto pavement. Scout lay on the cement and shook her head still. Later Jem said, “Scout, get away from there, come on!”
Scout raised her head and stared at the Radley Place steps.
“Come on, Scout, don’t just lie there!” Jem screamed. “Get up, can’tcha?”
“Get the tire!” Jem hollered. “Bring it with you! Ain’t you got any sense at all?”
“Why didn’t you bring it?” Jem yelled.
“Why don’t you get it?” Scout screamed.
“Go on, it ain’t far inside the gate. Why, you even touched the house once remember?” Scout said.
Jem ran down the sidewalk, treaded water at the gate, then dashed in and retrieved the tire.
Calpurnia appeared in the front door and yelled, “Lemonade time! You all get outa that hot sun ’fore you fry alive!” Calpurnia set a pitcher and three glasses on the porch, then went about her business.
Jem gulped down his second glassful and slapped his chest and said that he knew what we could play; he said we could play a game called Boo Radley. Later, Jem parceled out our roles: Scout was Mrs. Radley, I was old Mr. Radley: I walked up and down the sidewalk and coughed when Jem spoke to me. Jem, naturally, was Boo.
As the summer progressed, so did our game. We polished and perfected it, added dialogue and plot until we had manufactured a small play upon which we rang changes everyday. One day we were so busily playing Chapter XXV, Book II of One Man’s Family, we did not see Atticus standing on the sidewalk looking at us, slapping a rolled magazine against his knee. The sun said twelve noon.
“What are you all playing?” he asked
“Nothing,” said Jem.
Jem’s evasion told Scout and I that our game was a secret, so we kept quiet.
“What are you doing with those scissors, then? Why are you tearing up that newspaper? If it’s today’s I’ll tan you.”
“Nothing,” said Jem.
“Nothing what?” said Atticus.
“Nothing, sir,” said Jem.
“Give me those scissors,” Atticus said. “They’re no things to play with. Does this by any chance have anything to do with the Radleys?”
“No sir,” said Jem, reddening.
“I hope it doesn’t,” Atticus said shortly, and went inside the house.
Safely in the yard, I asked Jem if we could play any more.
“I don’t know. Atticus didn’t say we couldn’t-”
I remember asking Scout earlier in the summer to marry me, but later I just forgot about it. I remember Scout beating me up twice so I just grew closer to Jem. Jem and I would spend days together in the treehouse plotting and planning, calling Scout only when we needed a third party. I could see that Scout would spend most of her time with Miss Maudie now that Jem and I grew closer to each other. Jem told me that Miss Maudie was a widow, a chameleon lady who worked in her flower beds in an old straw hat and men’s coveralls, but after her five o’clock bath she would appear on the porch and reign over the street in magisterial beauty.
Next morning Jem and I were in the back yard deep in conversation. When Scout joined us, as usual we said go away.
“Will not. This yard’s as much mine as it is yours, Jem Finch. I got just as much right to play in it as you have,” said Scout.
Jem and I emerged from a brief huddle: “If you stay you’ve got to do what we tell you,” I warned.
Scout agreed so Jem and I told her about our plan to give a note to Boo inviting him out to get ice cream with us. We told her that we would try to stick the note in a window of the Radley Place with a fishing pole but as we started doing it Atticus cached us and ordered us to “stop tormenting that man” with either notes or the “Boo Radley” game.
“You want to be a lawyer, don’t you?” said Atticus. Atticus’s mouth was suspiciously firm, as if he were trying to hold it in line.
Jem decided there was no point in quibbling, and was silent.
Jem and Scout were coming tonight to sit by Miss Rachel’s fishpool with me, as this was my last night in Maycomb.
“Cross in it tonight?” I asked, not looking up. I was constructing a cigarette from newspaper and string.
“No just the lady. Don’t light that thing, Dill, you’ll stink up this whole end of town,” said Jem.
“We’re gonna miss you, boy,” Scout said. “Reckon we better watch for Mr. Avery?”
“I know what, let’s go for a walk,” said Jem.
“Where to, Dill?” said Scout.
I jerked my head in a southerly direction.
Jem said, “Okay.” When Scout protested, Jem said sweetly, “You don’t have to come along, Angel May.”
“You don’t have to go. Remember-”
“Scout, we ain’t gonna do anything, we’re just goin’ to the street light and back,” said Jem.
We strolled silently down the sidewalk, listening to porch swings creaking with the weight of the neighborhood, listening to the soft night-murmurs of the grown people on our street. Occasionally we heard Miss Stephanie Crawford laugh.
“Well?” I said.
“Okay,” said Jem. “Why don’t you go on home, Scout?”
“What are you gonna do?” asked Scout.
Jem and I were simply going to peep in the window with the loose shutter to see if we could get a look at Boo Radley, and if Scout didn’t want to go with us she could go straight home.
“But what in the sam holy hill did you wait till tonight?” asked Scout.
Because nobody could see us at night, because if Boo Radley killed us we’d miss school instead of vacation, and because it was easier to see inside a dark house in the dark than in the daytime.
“Jem, please-” said Scout.
“Scout, I’m tellin’ you for the last time, shut your trap or go home- I declare to the Lord you’re getting’ more like a girl every day!” said Jem.
With that, Scout had no option but to join us. We creep around the house, peering through various windows.
“Let’s try the back window,” I said.
“Dill, no,” Scout said.
I stopped and let Jem go ahead. When Jem put his foot on the bottom step, the step squeaked. He stood still, and then tried his weight by degrees. The step was silent. Jem skipped two steps, put his foot on the porch, heaved himself to it, and teetered a long moment. He crawled to the window, raised his head and looked in.
Suddenly, we saw the shadow of a man with a hat on and flee, and we heard a shotgun go off behind us. We escaped under the fence by the schoolyard, but Jem’s pants got caught on the fence, and he had to kick them off in order to free himself. We return home, where we encounter a collection of neighborhood adults, including Atticus, Miss Maudie, and Miss Stephanie Crawford, the neighborhood gossip. Miss Maudie informed us that Mr. Nathan Radley shot at “a negro” in his yard. Miss Stephanie added that Mr. Radley would be waiting outside with his gun so he can shoot at the next sound he hears. Later, Atticus noticed that Jem had no pants on so he asked Jem where his pants where, I interjected that I won Jem’s pants in a game of strip poker. Alarmed, Atticus asked us if we were playing cards but Jem responded that we were just playing with matches.
“Jem, Scout,” said Atticus, “I don’t want to hear of poker in any form again. Go by Dill’s and get your pants, Jem. Settle it yourselves.”
“Don’t worry, Dill,” said Jem, as we trotted up the sidewalk, “she ain’t gonna get you. He’ll talk her out of it. That was fast thinkin’, son. Listen….you hear?”
We stopped, and heard Atticus’s voice: “…not serious … they all go through it Miss Rachel…”
I was comforted, but Jem and Scout weren’t. There was the problem of Jem showing up some pants in the morning.
“ ’d give you some of mine,” I said, as we came to Miss Rachel’s steps. Jem said he couldn’t get in them, but thanks anyway. Scout and Jem said good-bye, and I went inside the house. I evidently remembered I was engaged to Scout, for I ran back out and kissed her swiftly in front of Jem. “Yawl write, hear?” he bawled after us. Later, I went to bed and as I was falling asleep I remembered all the fun times I spend with Jem and Scout this summer.
