I began to feel sick. Going back to that place by himself—I remembered Miss Stephanie:
Mr. Nathan had the other barrel waiting for the next sound he heard, be it nigger, dog… Jem knew that better than I.
I was desperate: “Look, it ain’t worth it, Jem. A lickin‘ hurts but it doesn’t last.
You’ll get your head shot off, Jem. Please…” He blew out his breath patiently.
“I—it’s like this, Scout,” he muttered. “Atticus ain’t ever whipped me since I can remember. I wanta keep it that way.”
This was a thought. It seemed that Atticus threatened us every other day.
“You mean he’s never caught you at anything.” “Maybe so, but—I just wanta keep it that way, Scout. We shouldn’a done that tonight, Scout.”
It was then, I suppose, that Jem and I first began to part company.
Sometimes I did not understand him, but my periods of bewilderment were short-lived. This was beyond me.
“Please,” I pleaded, “can’tcha just think about it for a minute— by yourself on that place—” “Shut up!”
“It’s not like he’d never speak to you again or somethin‘… I’m gonna wake him up, Jem, I swear I am—”
Jem grabbed my pajama collar and wrenched it tight.
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