Cherry Ames 04 Chief Nurse by Helen Wells Page A

silence between the flier and Cherry. He did not speak, he did not move, only followed her with those haunted eyes.
    He was so tired it was work for him to breathe. Cherry gave him a sedative. Presently he slept.
    Hopeless, Mrs. Flanders had said, and Ann had said.
    But she refused to accept “hopeless” as the verdict. She had promised his crew to get him well! Perhaps he would be better after more rest and after an operation on his shoulder. Perhaps then he would talk. Cherry began to look forward to the day the flier would be strong enough to endure surgery.
    Meanwhile there were other operations. Cherry began to spend more and more of her time in the Operating hut, working as O.R. supervisor with the new anaesthetist, and the surgeons and assisting doctors and other operating nurses who were scheduled on any particular day. Bessie Flanders turned out to be an excellent anaesthetist, cooperative, almost intuitive, in working with the doctor. Over a period of time, wounded soldiers were brought in from the fighting forward islands. The most amazing surgeries were performed.
    The most common surgeries were the removal of shrapnel fragments from exploding shells. But there were also a perforated ulcer, a delicate skin graft, fractured 104
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    arms and legs, an arm with lacerated nerves which had to be tied together again. There was even, in this jungle hut, one infected brain wound, where the team of doctors and nurses held their breaths while Major Pierce cleansed the wound, grafted leg tissues over the skull gap, and saved the patient from paralysis and blindness. No finer neurosurgery could have been done in the most modern hospital at home.
    Cherry found her work an inspiration. But there was still one discouraging factor. The Commanding Officer still continued his daily, seemingly unnecessary rounds of the evacuation hospital. For the past few days he had been concentrating his fretful comments on Major Pierce. The harassed unit director hinted several times that Colonel Pillsbee’s endless inspections wasted a great deal of precious time. But there was no getting rid of his stalking, birdlike figure.
    After one particularly trying session with Colonel Pillsbee, Bessie announced flatly, “ I think he ought to leave it to Major Pierce to inspect!”
    “Hmm,” said Cherry, and Major Pierce said, “Very interesting,” and strolled resignedly away.
    And then, rather abruptly, Bessie changed. The older nurse seemed to lose some of her high good humor and to change her mind about Colonel Pillsbee, too.
    The climax came one night in the Ritz Stables, when Mrs. Flanders delivered quite a lecture to the girls.

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It came out of a blue sky, and the girls all were amazed to hear her say, crossly:
    “Oh, stop grumbling about Colonel Pillsbee! He’s a fine man and you should value him at his true worth.
    You youngsters have no right to be calling him The Pill, and such things. He—–”
    “Pill is just a medical term,” Gwen assured her with a straight face.
    “He’s a good, kind, responsible man,” Bessie scolded, as they listened in astonishment. “You’re all too young to understand his viewpoint.”
    “Maybe so,” Gwen conceded, “but couldn’t we talk about something else now? Or—I’ll tell you what—let’s sing! Wa-ay down u-pon the Swa-NEE Ri-ver—– ” Several not very melodious voices warbled along with Gwen’s. Bessie beat her hands together for silence.
    “If you can’t sing, don’t sing!” she said sourly. The girls stared. Good-humored Bessie—cranky!
    “Whatever came over her?” Vivian whispered to Cherry.
    “Never saw her like this before,” Ann murmured.
    “Something must be wrong.”
    They watched Bessie paddle around the stable in her bare feet and old-fashioned cambric nightgown. She stumbled over big Bertha, who was washing her stock-ings in her helmet. She grunted as if Bertha had no right to be where she chose to