that was the summer we lost the bald jeeter who was not even mostly jeeter anymore but was probably mostly throckmorton or anyway was probably considered mostly throckmorton which was an appreciable step up from being considered mostly jeeter since jeeters hadn't ever been anything much while throckmortons had in fact been something once previously before the money got gone and the prestige fell away leaving merely the bluster and the taint and the general throckmorton aroma all of which taken together hardly made for a legacy worth getting stirred up over but any one of which taken singly still outstripped the entire bulk of advancements ever attempted and realized by jeeters who had scratched around in the dirt but were not much accomplished at farming and who had speculated in herds of cattle but were not much accomplished at speculating either and who at last had turned their energies to the construction of a henhouse which commenced ramshackle and got worse but became nonetheless the chief jeeter advancement along with the hens and the little speckled brown eggs and the localized ammonia cloud which was itself most probably the primary jeeter success though no particular jeeter or group of jeeters together actually contributed to it or could prevent it either so when the bald jeeter, with the fat jeeter as her maid of honor, exchanged vows with braxton porter throckmorton iii in the sanctuary of the methodist church on saturday june the twelfth, 1942, and afterwards set up house in neely proper she got away from the hens and the henhouse and out from under the ammonia cloud which was most likely beginning to expand in june 1942 since it set in to expanding most every june and swelled straight through august and on into september, especially this past august and especially this past september when it was bearing down on the town limits and posing some threat to the icehouse which was regular and ordinary for the season, particularly in august and particularly in september, so we were having what had come to be our usual summer straight up to the moment mr. derwood bridger laid his ladder against the throckmorton clapboard and climbed to the upper story where he pressed his nose to the bedroom windowscreen and shaded his eyes and called and hollered and shrieked at the bald jeeter until he was satisfied that she was gone from us for good.