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Judge
Taylor
was
on
the
bench
,
looking
like
a
sleepy
old
shark
,
his
pilot
fish
writing
rapidly
below
in
front
of
him
.
Judge
Taylor
looked
like
most
judges
I
had
ever
seen
:
amiable
,
white
-
haired
,
slightly
ruddy
-
faced
,
he
was
a
man
who
ran
his
court
with
an
alarming
informality
—
he
sometimes
propped
his
feet
up
,
he
often
cleaned
his
fingernails
with
his
pocket
knife
.
In
long
equity
hearings
,
especially
after
dinner
,
he
gave
the
impression
of
dozing
,
an
impression
dispelled
forever
when
a
lawyer
once
deliberately
pushed
a
pile
of
books
to
the
floor
in
a
desperate
effort
to
wake
him
up
.
Without
opening
his
eyes
,
Judge
Taylor
murmured
,
"
Mr
.
Whitley
,
do
that
again
and
it
’
ll
cost
you
one
hundred
dollars
.
"
He
was
a
man
learned
in
the
law
,
and
although
he
seemed
to
take
his
job
casually
,
in
reality
he
kept
a
firm
grip
on
any
proceedings
that
came
before
him
.
Only
once
was
Judge
Taylor
ever
seen
at
a
dead
standstill
in
open
court
,
and
the
Cunninghams
stopped
him
.
Old
Sarum
,
their
stamping
grounds
,
was
populated
by
two
families
separate
and
apart
in
the
beginning
,
but
unfortunately
bearing
the
same
name
.
The
Cunninghams
married
the
Coninghams
until
the
spelling
of
the
names
was
academic
—
academic
until
a
Cunningham
disputed
a
Coningham
over
land
titles
and
took
to
the
law
During
a
controversy
of
this
character
,
Jeems
Cunningham
testified
that
his
mother
spelled
it
Cunningham
on
deeds
and
things
,
but
she
was
really
a
Coningham
,
she
was
an
uncertain
speller
,
a
seldom
reader
,
and
was
given
to
looking
far
away
sometimes
when
she
sat
on
the
front
gallery
in
the
evening
.
After
nine
hours
of
listening
to
the
eccentricities
of
Old
Sarum
’
s
inhabitants
,
Judge
Taylor
threw
the
case
out
of
court
.
When
asked
upon
what
grounds
,
Judge
Taylor
said
,
"
Champertous
connivance
,
"
and
declared
he
hoped
to
God
the
litigants
were
satisfied
by
each
having
had
their
public
say
.
They
were
.
That
was
all
they
had
wanted
in
the
first
place
.
Judge
Taylor
had
one
interesting
habit
.
He
permitted
smoking
in
his
courtroom
but
did
not
himself
indulge
:
sometimes
,
if
one
was
lucky
,
one
had
the
privilege
of
watching
him
put
a
long
dry
cigar
into
his
mouth
and
munch
it
slowly
up
.
Bit
by
bit
the
dead
cigar
would
disappear
,
to
reappear
some
hours
later
as
a
flat
slick
mess
,
its
essence
extracted
and
mingling
with
Judge
Taylor
’
s
digestive
juices
.
I
once
asked
Atticus
how
Mrs
.
Taylor
stood
to
kiss
him
,
but
Atticus
said
they
didn
’
t
kiss
much
.
The
witness
stand
was
to
the
right
of
Judge
Taylor
,
and
when
we
got
to
our
seats
Mr
.
Heck
Tate
was
already
on
it
.
"
Jem
,
"
I
said
,
"
are
those
the
Ewells
sittin
’
down
yonder
?
"
"
Hush
,
"
said
Jem
,
"
Mr
.
Heck
Tate
’
s
testifyin
’
.
"
Mr
.
Tate
had
dressed
for
the
occasion
.
He
wore
an
ordinary
business
suit
,
which
made
him
look
somehow
like
every
other
man
:
gone
were
his
high
boots
,
lumber
jacket
,
and
bullet
-
studded
belt
.
From
that
moment
he
ceased
to
terrify
me
.
He
was
sitting
forward
in
the
witness
chair
,
his
hands
clasped
between
his
knees
,
listening
attentively
to
the
circuit
solicitor
.
The
solicitor
,
a
Mr
.
Gilmer
,
was
not
well
known
to
us
.
He
was
from
Abbottsville
;
we
saw
him
only
when
court
convened
,
and
that
rarely
,
for
court
was
of
no
special
interest
to
Jem
and
me
.
A
balding
,
smooth
-
faced
man
,
he
could
have
been
anywhere
between
forty
and
sixty
.
Although
his
back
was
to
us
,
we
knew
he
had
a
slight
cast
in
one
of
his
eyes
which
he
used
to
his
advantage
:
he
seemed
to
be
looking
at
a
person
when
he
was
actually
doing
nothing
of
the
kind
,
thus
he
was
hell
on
juries
and
witnesses
.
The
jury
,
thinking
themselves
under
close
scrutiny
,
paid
attention
;
so
did
the
witnesses
,
thinking
likewise
.
"
.
.
.
in
your
own
words
,
Mr
.
Tate
,
"
Mr
.
Gilmer
was
saying
.
