Thomas Robinson reached around, ran his fingers under his left arm and lifted it.
He guided his arm to the Bible and his rubber-like left hand sought contact with the black binding. As he raised his right hand, the useless one slipped off the Bible and hit the clerk’s table. He was trying again when Judge Taylor growled,
“That’ll do, Tom.” Tom took the oath and stepped into the witness chair. Atticus very quickly induced him to tell us:
Tom was twenty-five years of age; he was married with three children; he had been in trouble with the law before: he once received thirty days for disorderly conduct.
“It must have been disorderly,” said Atticus. “What did it consist of?”
“Got in a fight with another man, he tried to cut me.”
“Did he succeed?”
“Yes suh, a little, not enough to hurt. You see, I—” Tom moved his left shoulder.
“Yes,” said Atticus. “You were both convicted?”
“Yes suh, I had to serve ‘cause I couldn’t pay the fine. Other fellow paid his’n.”
Dill leaned across me and asked Jem what Atticus was doing. Jem said Atticus was showing the jury that Tom had nothing to hide.
“Were you acquainted with Mayella Violet Ewell?” asked Atticus.
“Yes suh, I had to pass her place goin‘ to and from the field every day.”
“Whose field?”
“I picks for Mr. Link Deas.”
“Were you picking cotton in November?”
“No suh, I works in his yard fall an‘ wintertime. I works pretty steady for him all year round, he’s got a lot of pecan trees’n things.”
“You say you had to pass the Ewell place to get to and from work. Is there any other way to go?”
“No suh, none’s I know of.”
“Tom, did she ever speak to you?”
“Why, yes suh, I’d tip m’hat when I’d go by, and one day she asked me to come inside the fence and bust up a chiffarobe for her.”
“When did she ask you to chop up the—the chiffarobe?”
“Mr. Finch, it was way last spring. I remember it because it was choppin‘ time and I had my hoe with me. I said I didn’t have nothin’ but this hoe, but she said she had a hatchet. She give me the hatchet and I broke up the chiffarobe. She said,
‘I reckon I’ll hafta give you a nickel, won’t I?’ an‘ I said, ’No ma’am, there ain’t no charge.‘ Then I went home. Mr. Finch, that was way last spring, way over a year ago.”
“Did you ever go on the place again?”
“Yes suh.”
“When?”
“Well, I went lots of times.”
Judge Taylor instinctively reached for his gavel, but let his hand fall. The murmur below us died without his help.
“Under what circumstances?”
“Please, suh?”
“Why did you go inside the fence lots of times?”
Tom Robinson’s forehead relaxed. “She’d call me in, suh. Seemed like every time
I passed by yonder she’d have some little somethin‘ for me to do—choppin’
kindlin‘, totin’ water for her. She watered them red flowers every day—”
“Were you paid for your services?”
“No suh, not after she offered me a nickel the first time. I was glad to do it, Mr.
Ewell didn’t seem to help her none, and neither did the chillun, and I knowed she didn’t have no nickels to spare.”
“Where were the other children?”
“They was always around, all over the place. They’d watch me work, some of
