Obeying directions, Peggy tried again, only to fail once more. Seeing how far Jo Ann was leaning over the wall in her effort to catch the rope, she exclaimed, “Oh, Jo, don’t lean over so far! You make me nervous.”
“Well, it looks as if I’ll have to hang by my feet to catch anything you throw. If you just knew how hot it was up here!”
“Don’t fuss! I’ll try again, but this balcony is so narrow that I can’t swing my arm. Now, ready? Here goes!”
Up sailed the coil of rope, straight into Jo Ann’s outstretched hands.
“Whew! It’s a good thing I didn’t miss again,” gasped Peggy. “That was work, believe me!”
Quickly she fastened the parasol to the lowered end of the rope, and Jo Ann drew it up over the edge of the roof.
Perched on the wall of the roof, high above the city, her feet dangling and the parasol over her head, Jo Ann presented a queer, almost ridiculous appearance, but to Florence and Peggy her position seemed anything but amusing.
So dangerous did it look that Peggy cried out in alarm, “Jo! For goodness’ sake get off that wall! Haven’t you got into enough trouble for one day?”
“Oh, this would be great,” Jo Ann called back, “if the wall weren’t so hot. There’s a gorgeous view and a delightful breeze—what more could you ask for?” She drifted gaily into one of the popular songs of the day.
“Just picture a penthouse, ’way up in the sky,