In a few more moments a decrepit, half-blind old man, led by a small, wizened-faced boy, appeared at the head of the stairs.
Jo Ann gave a long sigh. “They must be patients for Dr. Blackwell. I’ll have my troubles now trying to talk to them.”
“Can’t you ask them what they want?”
“I’ll try. Let’s see. Ah—que queres [what do you want]?” she finally managed in Spanish.
The old man mumbled a reply, but Jo Ann could not understand a single word.
“Do you want el doctor?” she asked again. Once more the old man mumbled an unintelligible reply.
Jo Ann turned to Peggy. “I can’t make out a thing he says. What’d we better do? Take them into the office and let them wait? Florence always tries to persuade the patients to wait for her father.”
“I don’t know what to say,” replied Peggy doubtfully. “I’ve never seen such pitiful-looking specimens of humanity in my life. They look like charity cases to me, but maybe you’d better try to hold them.”
“Well, I’ll try—if I can make them understand.”
With renewed efforts Jo Ann struggled to make herself understood, using a mixture of Spanish and English and gesturing vigorously with her hands.