She turned to Miss Miller—
“This is Mister Harris, Miss Miller.”
“Aw-w-w, dog-gone it, I’ve met yuh and—and I—I—” Harp stammered to a stop, his face red.
“I think I have met Mr. Harris,” smiled the school-teacher.
“That’s right!” exclaimed Mrs. Wesson. “Come to think of it, yuh have. Why don’t you boys come over and see us once in a while? We like company. Come over any evenin’. Harp can bring his music along and entertain us.”
“Oh, do you play, Mr. Harris?” asked Miss Miller.
“Does he play?” Mrs. Wesson seemed surprised that the girl should ask such a question. “Does he? He not only plays, but he sings. Sings and plays his own accompaniment on a jew’s-harp. Writes his own stuff, too, don’tcha, Harp?”
“Aw-w-w, for gosh sake!” Harp swallowed heavily and looked around for a place to put his hands.
“Well, we must be going along,” said Mrs. Wesson. “Pleased to have seen you in daylight, Harp. Come and see us, won’t yuh?”
“Sure be pleased to,” grinned Brick.