Turning to the man in charge of the booth, she repeated in Spanish, “Cuanto la ropa?”
The man looked amazed at first, then stared blankly at her.
“I want la ropa,” she repeated impatiently.
With a shrug of his shoulders, the man shook his head and pointed to another booth farther down the aisle. The next moment his face brightened, and, reaching over, he handed her a basket.
“No—no!” exclaimed Jo Ann, frowning more deeply than ever.
“Maybe he doesn’t understand what you’re saying, Jo,” Peggy suggested, smiling. “Maybe that’s not the right word for rope.”
“Something’s wrong, that’s certain,” Jo Ann replied.
Turning to the man again, she pointed to the back of the booth behind a stack of sombreros. “See, I want that rope back there.” A broad smile spread over his bronze face as he picked up several of the hats and handed them to her.
Jo Ann shook her head vehemently. “No—no.”
Since the only thing left near the hats was the coil of rope hanging on a peg behind them, he handed her the rope.