Although the performance had already started the four managed to find seats on the front row.

 

The audience was a noisy, talkative one. A constant jabbering¹ of tongues sounded on all sides; laughter rang out at frequent intervals², and the pianist, sitting opposite the boys, had difficulty in making the melodious³ notes of his instrument heard.

 

One of the first things the Americans noticed was the excellence⁴ of his playing. With fascinated attention they watched his deft⁵ fingers moving over the keyboard, even while the first part of a three reel thriller⁶ was flashing on the big white screen above.

 

“Some music that!” declared Cranny. “It’s better’n the canned variety.”

 

“Simply great,” said Dick.

 

When the lights flashed up during an interval[109] all three lads uttered exclamations⁷ of surprise.

 

“Great Scott! another American,” exclaimed Tom, in a voice which he intended to be low, though his words easily carried to the pianist’s ears. The latter looked toward them earnestly. He was an extremely good-looking young chap—only a lad, and he seemed to be entirely⁸ out of place amid such surroundings.

 

“Hello!” he greeted them with a smile. “Yes, another American!”

 

In an instant they were chatting with delightful⁹ informality, unheeding either the stares or the gruff remarks of several Mexicans near at hand.

 

“My name is Jimmy Raymond,” the pianist informed them. “What’s yours?”

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