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SPANISH JOHNNY had no shop of his own, but he kept a table and an order-book in one corner of the drug store where paints and wall-paper were sold, and he was sometimes to be found there for an hour or so about noon. Thea had gone into the drug store to have a friendly chat with the proprietor, who used to lend her books from his shelves. She found Johnny there, trimming rolls of wall-paper for the parlor of Banker Smith's new house. She sat down on the top of his table and watched him.
"Johnny," she said suddenly, "I want you to write down the words of that Mexican serenade you used to sing; you know, 'Rosa de Noche.' It 's an unusual song. I 'm going to study it. I know enough Spanish for that."
Johnny looked up from his roller with his bright, affable smile. "Si, but it is low for you, I think; voz contralto. It is low for me."
"Nonsense. I can do more with my low voice than I used to. I 'll show you. Sit down and write it out for me, please." Thea beckoned him with the short yellow pencil tied to his order-book.
Johnny ran his fingers through his curly black hair. "If you wish. I do not know if that serenata all right for young ladies. Down there it is more for married ladies. They sing it for husbands—or somebody else, may-bee." Johnny's eyes twinkled and he apologized gracefully with his shoulders. He sat down at the table, and while Thea looked over his arm, began to write the song down in a long, slanting script, with highly ornamental capitals. Presently he looked up. "This-a song not exactly Mexican," he said thoughtfully. "It come from farther down; Brazil, Venezuela, may-bee. I learn it from some fellow
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