“Now what are we going to do?” Bobby Sue sighed. “He’s been kicked out of school six times already for chewing.”
“What do you expect?” Grinned Jeb. “He’s the son of a tobacco farmer. It’s free advertising is how I look at it.”
Then to his wife, “Now how about you and I go to the back room like ya’ mentioned. You can clean the manure off of my there nether regions.”
***
The 1918 Studebaker coughed, as Neville drove it down Charlestown Drive away from the Ascariot Manor.
Mrs. Dixon’s hands were folded neatly in her lap, her hair was pulled back meticulously into a classic chignon. By her side sat Mortimer, rigidly dressed in a smart gray suit, a lovely cobalt blue and black bowtie was at his neck. Cap toe oxford shoes covered his great feet: feet, which he was tapping nervously.
“He
