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Boo was about six-and-a-half feet tall,judging from his tracks; he dined on raw squirrels and any cats he could catch, that’s why his hands were bloodstained—if you ate an animal raw, you could never wash the blood off. There was a long jagged scar that ran across his face; what teeth he had were yellow and rotten; his eyes popped, and he drooled most of the time.
So Jem received most of his information from Miss Stephanie Crawford, a neighborhood scold, who said she knew the whole thing. According to Miss Stephanie, Boo was sitting in the livingroom cutting some items from The Maycomb Tribune to paste in his scrapbook. His father entered the room. As Mr. Radley passed by, Boo drove the scissors into his parent’s leg, pulled them out, wiped them on his pants, and resumed his activities.
“You’re right.We’d better keep this and the blanket to ourselves. Someday, maybe, Scout can thank him for covering her up.”“Thank who?” I asked. “Boo Radley. You were so busy looking at the fire you didn’t know it when he put the blanket around you.”
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