“I choose to name them,” said Francis. “Tell, Jo.”
“I’ll not tell, unless you get your little new playmate here to promise me a dance to-night.”
“Are you really going to have a dance to-night?” asked the girl eagerly.
“Sure thing we are. Right here in this mess hall, and—” looking at her fixedly, he added slowly, “you can dance, too,—with me.”
“Oh!” she cried, her eyes shining. “It will seem so beautiful—to dance again. What do they dance up here—fox trot?”
“We dance any old thing the music tells us to.”
“Same as they do in—Chicago?” she asked demurely.
“Now tell us where the kittens are,” demanded Betty.
“Follow me, little Black and Tan.”
In her excitement Betty forgot to resent Jo’s pet appellation for her.