Oh-h-h, I stopped at a big cook-quari-um Not very long ago, To see the bass and suckers And hear the white whale blow. The chorus of it ran: Oh-h-h-h, the big sea-line he howled and he growled, The seal beat time on a drum; The whale he swallered a den-vereel In the big cook-quari-um. From that one Banjo passed to "The Cowboy's Lament," and from tragedy to love. There could be nothing more moving--if not in one direction, then in another--than the sentimental expression of Banjo's little sandy face as he sang: I know you were once my true-lov-o-o-o, But such a thing it has an aind; My love and my transpo'ts are ov-o-o-o, But you may still be my fraind-d-d. Sundown was rosy behind the distant mountains, a sea of purple shadows laved their nearer feet, when Banjo got out his fiddle at Mrs. Chadron's request and sang her "favorite" along with the moving tones of that instrument. Dau-ling I am growing-a o-o-eld, Seel-vo threads a-mong tho go-o-ld-- As he sang, Nola slipped from the room. He was finishing when she sped by the window and came sparkling into the room with the announcement that the guests from far Cheyenne were coming. Frances was up in excitement; Mrs. Chadron searched the floor for her unfinished sock. "What was that flashed a-past the winder like a streak a minute ago?" Banjo inquired. "Flashed by the window?" Nola repeated, puzzled. Frances laughed, the two girls stopping in the door, merriment gleaming from their young faces like rays from iridescent gems. "Why, that was Nola," Frances told him, curious to learn what the sentimental eyes of the little musician foretold. "I thought it was a star from the sky," said Banjo, sighing softly, like a falling leaf. As they waited at the gate to welcome the guests, who were cantering up with a curtain of dust behind them, they laughed over Banjo's compliment. "I knew there was something behind those eyes," said Frances. "No telling how long he's been saving it for a chance to work it off on somebody," Nola said. "He got it out of a book--the Mexicans all have them, full of _brindies_, what we call toasts, and silly soft compliments like that." "I've seen them, little red books that they give for premiums with the Mexican papers down in Texas," Frances nodded, "but Banjo didn't get that out of a book--it was spontaneous." "I must write it down, and compare it with the next time he gets it off." "Give him credit for the way he delivered it, no matter where he got it," Frances laughed. "Many a more sophisticated man than your desert troubadour would have broken his neck over that. He's in love with you, Nola--didn't you hear him sigh?" "Oh, he has been ever since I was old enough to take notice of it," returned Nola, lightly. "Oh, my luv's like a falling star," paraphrased Frances. "Not much!" Nola denied, more than half serious. "Venus is ascendant; you keep your eye on her and see." CHAPTER IV