“Both. Just give me time.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Florence called shortly afterwards as she came from the kitchen with a pot of tea, which she placed on the table beside her mother’s plate.
“Be there in a minute,” called back Jo Ann. “I’m simply starving.”
She took a plain little print dress out of her bag, then jerked off her wet clothes. “Can I—may I—eat barefooted?” she asked in a muffled voice as she pulled the dress over her head. “It’ll take too long to put on shoes and stockings.”
“When in Mexico do as the peons do,” quoted Peggy, laughing. “That’s your motto, is it? You’ll probably want to use the floor for your table and your fingers for knives and forks, too.”
“No; I haven’t any tortillas to use for knife and fork as they do. Only my feet are peon, anyway, and you can’t see them under the table.” Jo Ann slipped quickly into her place at the table where the others were already seated.
Mrs. Blackwell laughed gaily. “You girls are as good as a tonic,” she declared a little later. “I haven’t laughed so much for months. I feel much stronger today, too. I think I’ll take a short walk later on when it gets cooler.”
Florence beamed as she leaned over and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I knew you’d get well up here. I’m going to write Daddy this very afternoon and tell him what a good patient you are and how much better you look already.”
“You can do that right after dinner,” put in Jo Ann. “I’m going to wash the dishes to make up for running away and leaving you and Peg to get dinner alone. I promise to be good after this.”
“You mean till next time,” laughed Florence.