in no mood for banter.
Ann was having trouble with a wisdom tooth and was temporarily off duty. Janet Hoyt, a junior student, was subbing for her. Janet was one of those big, placid girls with not a nerve in her body—the kind who make grand matrons of orphanages and asylums. She looked up from the textbook she was studying and eyed Ellen with an adoring but slightly worried gaze.
“You’re—you’re terribly jumpy tonight, Miss Gaylord,” she stammered. “Don’t you feel well? You’ve been on nights awfully long.”
“I’m all right.” Ellen was surprised and annoyed to find that she spoke sharply. “I am sort of jumpy, as you call it. I don’t know why unless it’s the storm. Just listen to that wind.”
“Don’t you like the wind?” the other girl asked in surprise. “I just love it! I adore being out in a regular gale, especially if there is rain or snow along with it. I love to feel it on my face and to fight it every step of the way—to master it.”
Ellen smiled at her. Once, ages ago, that was the way she had felt. When she was at home, she had gloried in the storm’s buffeting. Why had she changed ? Or had she really changed?
“I like to be out in the wind,” she said, “but somehow, when I’m inside it sort of makes me homesick.”
“Probably that’s it,” the other answered.
Ellen went over to the great window at the end of the corridor and drew back the linen curtains. Clouds scudded across the moon leaving long tatters through which an occasional star twinkled faintly. The bare giant elms sighed and bent and writhed as if in agony. It was all eerie and somehow sinister. Ellen shivered and as she drew back, her glance focused on a darker shadow in the shrubbery near the garage. As if aware of her gaze, it shrank and melted into the background. Ellen pulled the curtains together. How silly and imaginative she was!. The night watchman, of course. Since that advertisement he had been particularly alert.
“It’s a wild night,” she said as she sat down at the table and picked up her own book. “Everyone is restless—there—I knew it,” as two summoning red lights glowed. “I’ll go. You get on with that chapter.”
She supplied the necessary demands of two of L’s patients, gave an inquiring glance at little Angela Dubail, who appeared frailer and more ethereal each time she looked at her, passed on down the ward to the bed of Lady X and paused for a moment. The girl lay in that same deathlike sleep to which she seemed to fall from time to time. Ellen gently touched her forehead. Cool and slightly moist. Her breathing was so light as to be almost imperceptible. If she were indeed dead, she would look just so, Ellen knew. A feeling of futil it y overcame her for a moment. In this girl was her own strong, healthy blood—poured into her veins gladly and hopefully. A little flood of warmth crept to her face as she realized that her own blood had been supplemented by Dr. Dent’s. She wondered whimsically if the two bloods mixed well or if they, too, quarreled. It was rather odd that they typed alike—odd and vaguely disturbing when Ellen realized how much she disliked the man.
She went back to the corridor. No doubt Cyrus Dent had been indulging in his perverted idea of humor when he spouted his hypothetical cases for her benefit. She was glad she had given him no satisfaction. She bit her lip and suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. She wished—how she wished he hadn’t kissed her! She had read somewhere that with every kiss goes a part of one. How silly? Why, oh why couldn’t she put him out of her mind? Out damned spot, she mentally ordered, and giggled aloud just as Dr. Dent arrived from Pediatrics up front at the same time Marcella left the elevator with the midnight sandwiches and coffee.
“Anything new?” he asked impersonally as he perched himself on one corner of the table.
“Not a thing.” Ellen was proud of her cool, level voice.
“Mac’s expecting Lady
Ann was having trouble with a wisdom tooth and was temporarily off duty. Janet Hoyt, a junior student, was subbing for her. Janet was one of those big, placid girls with not a nerve in her body—the kind who make grand matrons of orphanages and asylums. She looked up from the textbook she was studying and eyed Ellen with an adoring but slightly worried gaze.
“You’re—you’re terribly jumpy tonight, Miss Gaylord,” she stammered. “Don’t you feel well? You’ve been on nights awfully long.”
“I’m all right.” Ellen was surprised and annoyed to find that she spoke sharply. “I am sort of jumpy, as you call it. I don’t know why unless it’s the storm. Just listen to that wind.”
“Don’t you like the wind?” the other girl asked in surprise. “I just love it! I adore being out in a regular gale, especially if there is rain or snow along with it. I love to feel it on my face and to fight it every step of the way—to master it.”
Ellen smiled at her. Once, ages ago, that was the way she had felt. When she was at home, she had gloried in the storm’s buffeting. Why had she changed ? Or had she really changed?
“I like to be out in the wind,” she said, “but somehow, when I’m inside it sort of makes me homesick.”
“Probably that’s it,” the other answered.
Ellen went over to the great window at the end of the corridor and drew back the linen curtains. Clouds scudded across the moon leaving long tatters through which an occasional star twinkled faintly. The bare giant elms sighed and bent and writhed as if in agony. It was all eerie and somehow sinister. Ellen shivered and as she drew back, her glance focused on a darker shadow in the shrubbery near the garage. As if aware of her gaze, it shrank and melted into the background. Ellen pulled the curtains together. How silly and imaginative she was!. The night watchman, of course. Since that advertisement he had been particularly alert.
“It’s a wild night,” she said as she sat down at the table and picked up her own book. “Everyone is restless—there—I knew it,” as two summoning red lights glowed. “I’ll go. You get on with that chapter.”
She supplied the necessary demands of two of L’s patients, gave an inquiring glance at little Angela Dubail, who appeared frailer and more ethereal each time she looked at her, passed on down the ward to the bed of Lady X and paused for a moment. The girl lay in that same deathlike sleep to which she seemed to fall from time to time. Ellen gently touched her forehead. Cool and slightly moist. Her breathing was so light as to be almost imperceptible. If she were indeed dead, she would look just so, Ellen knew. A feeling of futil it y overcame her for a moment. In this girl was her own strong, healthy blood—poured into her veins gladly and hopefully. A little flood of warmth crept to her face as she realized that her own blood had been supplemented by Dr. Dent’s. She wondered whimsically if the two bloods mixed well or if they, too, quarreled. It was rather odd that they typed alike—odd and vaguely disturbing when Ellen realized how much she disliked the man.
She went back to the corridor. No doubt Cyrus Dent had been indulging in his perverted idea of humor when he spouted his hypothetical cases for her benefit. She was glad she had given him no satisfaction. She bit her lip and suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. She wished—how she wished he hadn’t kissed her! She had read somewhere that with every kiss goes a part of one. How silly? Why, oh why couldn’t she put him out of her mind? Out damned spot, she mentally ordered, and giggled aloud just as Dr. Dent arrived from Pediatrics up front at the same time Marcella left the elevator with the midnight sandwiches and coffee.
“Anything new?” he asked impersonally as he perched himself on one corner of the table.
“Not a thing.” Ellen was proud of her cool, level voice.
“Mac’s expecting Lady
Similar Books
