“Uh-huh? She did? Who’d she go with?”
“Mister Leach.”
“Oh! Well, I’m much obliged, Mrs. Wesson.”
“No, yuh ain’t, Harp; but it’s the best I can do for yuh.”
“Sa-a-ay!” Cale Wesson’s voice rasped out angrily. “What in do yuh mean by singin’ love songs around my winder at this time in the mornin’? I’ve got a danged good notion”
“No, yuh ain’t got no notion,” retorted Mrs. Wesson. “You never had any kind of a notion. You let the boy alone.”
The window slammed down, cutting off the argument. Harp put the offending instrument in his pocket and went back to the deserted street, where he slouched despondently along the sidewalk.
“Gone t’ Silverton with Leach, eh?” he muttered aloud. “And me wastin’ m’ melody on the Wesson fambly. My ! Now, everybody in town will know about it. Sam Leach!”
Miss Miller was the new school-teacher in Marlin City, a tall, angular sort of girl; rather good-looking and with a pleasant disposition. She boarded and roomed with the Wesson family, which place, according to Mrs. Wesson, “was gittin’ to be a cowpuncher’s headquarters.”
Harp Harris had been fancy free until he had seen Della Miller. But in one month, Dan Cupid had riddled his heart with arrows of love; ruined his perspective, until he lost all track of time. Hence the four a.m. serenade.