Harp went outside and headed for Wesson’s home, going as fast as he could walk on high heels. Mrs. Wesson answered his knock, squinting at him quizzically.
“Miss Miller to home?” asked Harp.
Mrs. Wesson shook her head.
“No, she is still at the schoolhouse, Harp. She won’t be home until after four o’clock.”
“Uh-huh.” Harp shifted his feet nervously. “There’s goin’ to be a dance at Silverton next Friday.”
“So I heard.”
“Yuh did? Who told yuh, Mrs. Wesson?”
“Why, Sam Leach was here kinda early this mornin’ to ask Miss Miller to go with him.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Harp in a far-away voice, “Uh-huh. We-ell, I reckon they’ll have a real nice dance. Much obliged, Mrs. Wesson.”
“I’m makin’ some doughnuts,” offered Mrs. Wesson, knowing Harp’s fondness for such delicacies. But this was one time when Harp’s sweet tooth had turned sour.