To the next ten questions, as Mr. Gilmer reviewed Mayella’s version of events, the witness’s steady answer was that she was mistaken in her mind.
“Didn’t Mr. Ewell run you off the place, boy?” “No suh, I don’t think he did.”
“Don’t think, what do you mean?” “I mean I didn’t stay long enough for him to run me off.”
“You’re very candid about this, why did you run so fast?” “I says I was scared, suh.”
“If you had a clear conscience, why were you scared?” “Like I says before, it weren’t safe for any nigger to be in a—fix like that.”
“But you weren’t in a fix—you testified that you were resisting Miss Ewell. Were you so scared that she’d hurt you, you ran, a big buck like you?”
No suh, I’s scared I’d be in court, just like I am now.” “Scared of arrest, scared you’d have to face up to what you did?
No suh, scared I’d hafta face up to what I didn’t do.” “Are you being impudent to me, boy?” “No suh, I didn’t go to be.
This was as much as I heard of Mr. Gilmer’s cross-examination, because Jem made me take Dill out.
For some reason Dill had started crying and couldn’t stop; quietly at first, then his sobs were heard by several people in the balcony.
Jem said if I didn’t go with him he’d make me, and Reverend Sykes said I’d better go, so I went.
Dill had seemed to be all right that day, nothing wrong with him, but I guessed he hadn’t fully recovered from running away.
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