Brick awoke at eight o’clock and found Harp fully dressed. It was not like Harp to be up and doing at that time in the morning. He had left Harp in a poker game in the Dollar Down at midnight, and took it for granted that the game had just broken up.
Cale Wesson was just opening his general merchandise store as they went up the street to the restaurant. Cale saw them coming, and began a clumsy imitation of a troubadour. Brick squinted at him, wondering what it was all about; but Harp knew.
Cale pointed his nose toward the sky and began singing in a voice that was even worse than the one owned by Harp Harris—
“I care not for the sta-a-ars that shi-hine.”
Cale paused and seemed to be searching for the proper note.
“Well, tha’sall right,” observed Brick. “I never had much use for stars that shine either. I like mine kinda dim, Cale.”
Harp’s ears were very red, his jaws shut tight. Brick glanced at him curiously, but Harp remained silent.
“What’s the idea, Cale?” queried Brick.
“Li’l love-bug, Brick. I can’t tell yuh much more, ’cause I don’t want no scandal in my own family. Me and Ma has been married seventeen years; livin’ peaceful-like with nothin’ to mar our happiness—but things are changin’. Ma’s romantic. I s’pose—” Cale yawned widely, seriously— “I s’pose I’ve got to learn to play some ed instrument and lose a lot of sleep, playin’ and singin’ beneath her winder—or take a chance on losin’ her.”