I was outside; Stephanie Crawford was gossiping with Mr. Avery and I. Jem, Jean Louise and that boy Dill came out on the front porch. I looked at them as they were talking. Then I called Jem Finch to come over.
Jem groaned and heaved himself up from the swing.
Stephanie Crawford’s nose quivered with curiosity. She wanted to know who all gave them permission to go to the court. She started asking them lots of questions until I said, “Hush, Stephanie.”
“I’ve not got all the morning to pass on the porch-Jem Finch, I called to find out if you and your colleagues can eat some cake. Got up at five to make it, so you better say yes. Excuse us, Stephanie. Good morning, Mr. Avery,” I said.
They accepted and we went inside the kitchen. There was a big cake and two little ones on my kitchen table. I gave Dill and Jean Louise each a little cake and I gave Jem Finch a slice of cake from the big one.
They began eating their cakes and suddenly I said, “Don’t fret, Jem. Things are never as bad as they seem.”
I had heard from Stephanie and from the whole town that Tom Robinson was found guilty. There was always the possibility, no matter how improbable, that he was innocent but I guess the jury could never rule on a black person’s favor. I thought the court had committed a fraud against Tom because I am pretty sure he was innocent. I also heard from Stephanie that before the jury went on to tell whether Tom was innocent or guilty, Atticus said in his closing statement, “But there is one way in this country in which all men are created equal-there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution, gentleman, is a court.”
“I simply want to tell you that there are some men in this world who were born to do our unpleasant jobs for us. Your father’s one of them,” I continued.
“Oh,” said Jem. “Well.”
“Don’t you oh well me, sir,” I replied, “you are not old enough to appreciate what I said.”
“It’s like bein’ a caterpillar in a cocoon, that’s what it is,” he said. “Like somethin’ asleep wrapped up in a warm place. I always thought Maycomb folks were the best folks in the world, least that’s what they seemed like.”
“We’re the safest folks in the world,” I said. “We’re so rarely called on to be Christians, but when we are, we’ve got men like Atticus to go for us.”
Jem grinned ruefully. “Wish the rest of the county thought that.”
“You’d be surprised how many of us.”
“Who in this town did one thing to help Tom Robinson, just who?” asked Jem.
“His colored friends for one thing, and people like us. People like Judge Taylor. People like Mr. Heck Tate. Stop eating and start thinking Jem. Did it ever strike you that Judge Taylor naming Atticus to defend that boy was no accident? That Judge Taylor might have had his reasons for naming him?”
As the children left my house, Miss Stephanie ran over to tell them that Bob Ewell accosted their father that morning, spat on him, and swore revenge. Mr. Bob Ewell was a veteran of an obscure war. I didn’t know much about him but I guess he was not a nice person.
The next day I saw Jem and Jean Louise dragging around the neighborhood, taking little interest in their normal pursuits, I discovered how deeply frightened they were about their father and Mr. Ewell.
