To Kill A Mockingbird Alternate Ending Essay

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“Mr. Finch!” Calpurnia shouted. “This is Cal. I swear to God there’s a mad dog down the street a piece- he’s coming this way, yes sir… yessir… yes.” Calpurnia hung up. Scout and Jem tried asking her what Atticus had said, but all Cal did was shake her head. Calpurnia rattled the telephone hook and said, “Miss Eula May-now ma’am, I’m through talking to Mr. Finch, please don’t connect me no more-listen, Miss Eula May, can you call Miss Rachel and Miss Stephanie Crawford and whoever’s got a phone on this street and tell ‘em a mad dog’s coming? Please, ma’am!” Calpurnia listened a moment. “I know it’s February, Miss Eula May, but I know a mad dog when I see one. Please ma’am, hurry!” Cal looked at Jem, and asked, “Radley’s got a phone?” …show more content…

Cal pounded on the door in vain, but there was no response. As Cal sprinted to the back porch, a black Ford pulled into the driveway. Atticus and Mr. Heck Tate got out of it. Heck Tate was the sheriff of Maycomb County. He was taller than Atticus, but thinner. He was long-nosed, wore boots with shiny metal eyeholes, boot pants, and a lumber jacket. His belt had a row of bullets sticking in it. He carried a heavy rifle. When he and Atticus reached the porch, Jem opened the door. “Where is he, Cal?” asked Atticus. “He ought to be here, by now…” said Calpurnia, pointing down the …show more content…

Tate. “No, sir, he’s in the twitchin’ stage, Mr. Heck.” Cal replied. “At any pace, we should wait for him to arrive. Not many things as dangerous as a mad dog,” Mr. Heck Tate said. There are also few things as deadly as a deserted street, waiting street. The trees were still, the mockingbirds were silent, and the carpenters that were working for Miss Maudie had seemingly vanished. Mr. Tate could be heard sniffing and blowing his nose. He shifted his rifle to the crook of his arm. Miss Stephanie Crawford’s face was framed in the glass window of her front door. Miss Maudie appeared and stood beside her. Atticus put his foot on the rung of his chair and rubbed his hand slowly down the side of his thigh. “There he is,” Atticus said softly. Tim Johnson wandered into sight, walking dazedly in the inner rim of the curve parallel to the Radley house. He was advancing at a snail’s pace, but was not playing or sniffing at foliage: He seemed dedicated to one course and motivated by an invisible force that was inching him toward us. We could see him shiver like a horse shedding flies. “He’s within range, Heck. You better get him before he goes down the side

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