“Not a speck.” “Shut your mouth, sir!” Judge Taylor was wide awake and roaring.
He was also pink in the face. His speech was miraculously unimpaired by his cigar.
“Link Deas,” he yelled, “if you have anything you want to say you can say it under oath and at the proper time,”
“but until then you get out of this room, you hear me? Get out of this room, sir, you hear me? I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to this case again!”
Judge Taylor looked daggers at Atticus, as if daring him to speak, but Atticus had ducked his head and was laughing into his lap.
I remembered something he had said about Judge Taylor’s ex cathedra remarks sometimes exceeding his duty,
but that few lawyers ever did anything about them. I looked at Jem, but Jem shook his head.
“It ain’t like one of the jurymen got up and started talking,” he said. “I think it’d be different then.”
“Mr. Link was just disturbin’ the peace or something.” Judge Taylor told the reporter to expunge anything he happened to have written down
after Mr. Finch if you were a nigger like me you’d be scared too, and told the jury to disregard the interruption.
He looked suspiciously down the middle aisle and waited, I suppose, for Mr. Link Deas to effect total departure.
Then he said, “Go ahead, Mr. Gilmer.” “You were given thirty days once for disorderly conduct, Robinson?” asked Mr. Gilmer.
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