We could tell, however, when debate became more acrimonious than professional, but this was from watching lawyers other than our father.
I never heard Atticus raise his voice in my life, except to a deaf witness. Mr. Gilmer was doing his job, as Atticus was doing his.
Besides, Mr. Ewell was Mr. Gilmer’s witness, and he had no business being rude to him of all people.
“Are you the father of Mayella Ewell?” was the next question. “Well, if I ain’t I can’t do nothing about it now, her ma’s dead,” was the answer.
Judge Taylor stirred. He turned slowly in his swivel chair and looked benignly at the witness.
“Are you the father of Mayella Ewell?” he asked, in a way that made the laughter below us stop suddenly. “Yes sir,” Mr. Ewell said meekly.
Judge Taylor went on in tones of good will: “This the first time you’ve ever been in court? I don’t recall ever seeing you here.”
At the witness’s affirmative nod he continued, “Well, let’s get something straight.
There will be no more audibly obscene speculations on any subject from anybody in this courtroom as long as I’m sitting here.
Do you understand?” Mr. Ewell nodded, but I don’t think he did. Judge Taylor sighed and said, “All right, Mr. Gilmer?”
“Thank you, sir. Mr. Ewell, would you tell us in your own words what happened on the evening of November twenty-first, please?”
Jem grinned and pushed his hair back. Just-in-your-own words was Mr. Gilmer’s trademark.
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