She shoved Cale aside and leaned out of the window.
“Harp!” she called softly.
“Eh?” Harp’s eyes opened and he gasped up at the window above him.
“You ought to go home and git some sleep,” said Mrs. Wesson.
“Huh?” Harp’s vocal cords creaked slightly.
“We like yore music,” said Mrs. Wesson seriously, “but Cale’s got to have sleep, if he’s going to run a store. Pers’nally, I kinda like it. Yuh better try it ag’in some night when Cale ain’t at home.”
“Uh,” replied Harp.
He stepped off the porch, as if to sneak away, but summoned up a little nerve.
“Ain’t Miss Miller to home?” he asked. “I—I told her I was goin’ to serenade her sometime, yuh know.”
“Gosh, I thought yuh was serenadin’ me.” Mrs. Wesson was sadly serious. “Well, I s’pose I should have known better. Nope, Miss Miller ain’t home, Harp. She went to Silverton to a dance last night.”