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           "Can’tyouallgetin?"

           ReverendSykeswaslookingdownatus,blackhatinhand.

           "Hey,Reverend,"saidJem."Naw,Scoutheremessedusup."

           "Well,let’sseewhatwecando."

           ReverendSykesedgedhiswayupstairs.Inafewmomentshewasback."There’snotaseatdownstairs.Doyouallreckonit’llbeallrightifyouallcametothebalconywithme?"

           "Goshyes,"saidJem.Happily,wespedaheadofReverendSykestothecourtroomfloor.There,wewentupacoveredstaircaseandwaitedatthedoor.ReverendSykescamepuffingbehindus,andsteeredusgentlythroughtheblackpeopleinthebalcony.FourNegroesroseandgaveustheirfront-rowseats.

           TheColoredbalconyranalongthreewallsofthecourtroomlikeasecond-storyveranda,andfromitwecouldseeeverything.

           Thejurysattotheleft,underlongwindows.Sunburned,lanky,theyseemedtobeallfarmers,butthiswasnatural:townfolkrarelysatonjuries,theywereeitherstruckorexcused.Oneortwoofthejurylookedvaguelylikedressed-upCunninghams.Atthisstagetheysatstraightandalert.

           Thecircuitsolicitorandanotherman,AtticusandTomRobinsonsatattableswiththeirbackstous.Therewasabrownbookandsomeyellowtabletsonthesolicitor’stable;Atticus’swasbare.

           Justinsidetherailingthatdividedthespectatorsfromthecourt,thewitnessessatoncowhide-bottomedchairs.Theirbacksweretous.