It was like Saturday. People from the south end of the county passed our house in a leisurely but steady stream.
Mr. Dolphus Raymond lurched by on his thoroughbred. “Don’t see how he stays in the saddle,” murmured Jem.
How c’n you stand to get drunk ‘fore eight in the morning?
A wagonload of ladies rattled past us. They wore cotton sunbonnets and dresses with long sleeves.
A bearded man in a wool hat drove them. “Yonder’s some Mennonites,” Jem said to Dill.
“They don’t have buttons.” They lived deep in the woods, did most of their trading across the river, and rarely came to Maycomb.
Dill was interested. “They’ve all got blue eyes,” Jem explained, “and the men can’t shave after they marry.
Their wives like for ‘em to tickle ’em with their beards.”
Mr. X Billups rode by on a mule and waved to us. “He’s a funny man,” said Jem.
“X’s his name, not his initial. He was in court one time and they asked him his name. He said X Billups.
Clerk asked him to spell it and he said X. Asked him again and he said X.
They kept at it till he wrote X on a sheet of paper and held it up for everybody to see.
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