THE SONG OF THE LARK
sigh. Johnny dropped on his elbow, wiping his face and neck and hands with his handkerchief. "Señorita," he panted, "if you sing like that once in the City of Mexico, they just-a go crazy. In the City of Mexico they ain t-a sit like stumps when they hear that, not-a much! When they like, they just-a give you the town."
Thea laughed. She, too, was excited. "Think so, Johnny? Come, sing something with me. El Parreño; I have n't sung that for a long time."
Johnny laughed and hugged his guitar. "You not-a forget him?" He began teasing his strings. "Come!" He threw back his head, "Anoche-e-e—"
"Anoche me confesse
Con un padre carmelite,
Y me dio penitencia
Que besaras tu boquita."
(Last night I made confession
With a Carmelite father,
And he gave me absolution
For the kisses you imprinted.)
Johnny had almost every fault that a tenor can have. His voice was thin, unsteady, husky in the middle tones. But it was distinctly a voice, and sometimes he managed to get something very sweet out of it. Certainly it made him happy to sing. Thea kept glancing down at him as he lay there on his elbow. His eyes seemed twice as large as usual and had lights in them like those the moonlight makes on black, running water. Thea remembered the old stories about his "spells." She had never seen him when his madness was on him, but she felt something to-night at her elbow that gave her an idea of what it might be like. For the first time she fully understood the cryptic explanation that Mrs. Tellamantez had made to Dr. Archie, long ago. There were the same shells along the walk; she believed she could pick out the very one. There
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