But to his surprise he saw that while the door was open, Dan was not there, and thhe more he looked inside the more Dan wasn't there.
"He's out," said Johnny sadly. "That's what it is. He's not in. I shall have to go a fast walk by myself. Darn it!"
Yet the front door to the street was closed, only the door to the common building hallway was open to Dan’s apartment. Perhaps he had gone down the stairs to the cellar, the dark and damp cellar. Or, into the backyard, which should be bright in the days sunshine.
But first he thought that he would knock very loudly just to make quite sure ... and while he waited for Dan not to answer, he danced a little dance to the beat of the knocks he made. Music was in his soul, or, something like that. Perhaps in his hips.
Johnny began to sing a song,
The summer breeze
Came through the trees
As I knocked on the door
No one was home
I felt alone trapped and bored
But guess who knows where the
Wind blows and sends
Me to a friend
Coming through those
Green green trees
My tender blowing friend
The summer breeze
Looking further into the apartment, Johnny decided that Dan was not home. So, he turned and went back up the stairs to his own apartment and thought of making a cup of tea.
"So what I'll do," said Johnny, "is I'll do this. I'll just go home first and see what the time is, and perhaps I'll eat a muffin with my tea, and then I'll go and see Mr. Bluster and sing it to him."
He hurried up the flights of stairs to his own apartment; and his mind was so busy on the way with the hum that he was getting ready for Mr. Bluster that, when he suddenly saw Dan sitting in his best arm-chair, he could only stand there rubbing his head and wondering whose house he was in. There was the first floor neighbor sitting in the third floor front room in third floor afternoon sun. What was going on.
“I came up the back stairs and the door was open, so I knocked and came in,” Dan said with a wave. “Are you going to make tea? Where did you go when you were out?”
"No," said Johnny, "it's you who were out, Dan."
"So it was," said Dan. "I knew one of us was."
Johnny looked up at his giant wall clock, which had stopped at ten minutes to past ten some weeks ago. The clock looked like it belonged in a train station and was so big and high on the wall that Johnny didn’t get around to getting a ladder and fixing the time.
"Just a little past ten," said Johnny happily. "You're just in time for a little smackerel of something," and he put his head into the cupboard, as he called from the kitchen. "And then we'll go out, Dan, and sing my song to Mr. Bluster."
"Which song, Johnny?"
"The one we're going to sing to Mr. Bluster," explained Johnny. “I just made it up out of my head as I was knocking on your door and feeling the rhythm of the rapping. Do you ever feel music that way, Dan?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dan sighed. “Were is the tea and muffins?”
The clock was still saying ten minutes past ten when Johnny and Dan set out on their way half an hour later. The sky was a little cloudy now, and the trees seemed to relax in the afternoon warmth.
Mr. Bluster lived on the corner and had been a fireman in his younger days, but now stayed home retired and came out on the corner to pass the time of day and pass judgement on all he heard and saw. He saw Johnny and Dan coming.
“Why don’t you two have jobs?” Mr. Bluster asked.
“Because we don’t need anymore money,” the two men answered in unison.
“That’s good for you,” Mr. Bluster replied.
“Good enough,” the two said, again, in unison.
“Would you like to hear my new song? I just dreamed it up about half an hour ago, so it might still be half baked,” Johnny added.
“You don’t have your guitar ready?” Mr. Bluster laughed.
“Nope.” The two sang the song together since Johnny had taught the words and simple melody to Dan while they shared tea in the afternoon in the third floor parlor.
“Frank Sinatra meets Dr. Seuss,” noted Mr. Bluster.
“Thanks,” said Johnny.
