We often wondered who else’s words Mr. Gilmer was afraid his witness might employ.
“Well, the night of November twenty-one I was comin’ in from the woods with a load o’kindlin’
and just as I got to the fence I heard Mayella screamin’ like a stuck hog inside the house—”
Here Judge Taylor glanced sharply at the witness and must have decided his speculations devoid of evil intent, for he subsided sleepily.
“What time was it, Mr. Ewell?” “Just ‘fore sundown. Well, I was sayin’ Mayella was screamin’ fit to beat Jesus —”
another glance from the bench silenced Mr. Ewell. “Yes? She was screaming?” said Mr. Gilmer. Mr. Ewell looked confusedly at the judge.
Well, Mayella was raisin’ this holy racket so I dropped m’load and run as fast as I could but I run into th’ fence,”
but when I got distangled I run up to th’ window and I seen—” Mr. Ewell’s face grew scarlet. He stood up and pointed his finger at Tom Robinson.
“—I seen that black nigger yonder ruttin’ on my Mayella!”
So serene was Judge Taylor’s court, that he had few occasions to use his gavel, but he hammered fully five minutes.
Atticus was on his feet at the bench saying something to him, while Mr. Heck Tate stood in the middle aisle quelling the packed courtroom.
Behind us, there was an angry muffled groan from the colored people. Reverend Sykes leaned across Dill and me, pulling at Jem’s elbow.
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