CHAPTER X
MOVING PICTURES
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 jabbering of tongues sounded on all sides; laughter rang out at frequent intervals, and the pianist, sitting opposite the boys, had difficulty in making the melodious notes of his instrument heard.
One of the first things the Americans noticed was the excellence of his playing. With fascinated attention they watched his deft fingers moving over the keyboard, even while the first part of a three reel thriller 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 all three lads uttered exclamations 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 entirely out of place amid such surroundings.
“Hello!” he greeted them with a smile. “Yes, another American!”
In an instant they were chatting with delightful informality, unheeding either the stares or the gruff remarks of several Mexicans near at hand.