United States or Gambia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Now and again across the mutually ghost-haunted chasm that separated them flashed the incontrovertible signal of sex and sense, as once when a new Interne, grossly bungling, stepped to the hospital window with a colleague to watch the Senior Surgeon's car roll away as usual with its two feminine passengers.
Can't you get some friends to come in? It isn't painful and it's over in a minute." "Friends? Where would I get friends of that sort?" "Well, relatives then some of your own people?" The Avenue Girl shut her eyes as she did when the dressing hurt her. "None that I'd care to see," she said. And the Probationer knew she lied. The interne shrugged his shoulders. "If you think of any let me know.
There was a new Interne there, a Japanese, and I guess she was sort of taken with him. "But my God, Zillah," I said, "your life was worth more than that old dame's!" "Shut your noise!" says Zillah. "It was my job. And there's no kick coming." Helene burst right out crying, she did. "Shut your noise, too!" says Zillah, just as cool as you please. "Bah! There's other lives and other chances!"
The interne had hard work not to stoop and kiss the blue veins that rose to the surface in the inner curve of her elbow. The dressing screens were up and the three were quite alone. To keep his voice steady he became stern. "Put your sleeve down and don't be a foolish girl!" he, commanded. "Put your sleeve down!" His eyes said: "You wonder! You beauty! You brave little girl!"
His eyes sharp points of blue in the smooth pinkness of his face surveyed Kennon curiously. "So you're the young man who takes untrained pregnant women for rides in old-fashioned spacers," he said. "Didn't you know what would happen?" "I was in a hurry, Doctor," Kennon said. "Obviously. Now tell me about it." Brainard looked at the eager-faced interne standing behind Kennon.
The next hour saw the Avenue Girl through a great deal. Her burns were dressed by an interne and she was moved back to a bed at the end of the ward. The Probationer sat beside her, having refused supper. The Dummy was gone the Senior Nurse had shooed him off as one shoos a chicken. "Get out of here! You're always under my feet," she had said not unkindly and pointed to the door.
Jerry buried his face in the white coverlet. The interne was pacing the roof anxiously. Golden sunset had faded to lavender to dark purple to night. The Probationer came up at last not a probationer now, of course; but she had left off her cap and was much less stately. "I'm sorry," she explained; "but I've been terribly busy. It went off so well!" "Of course if you handled it."
I can't get me breath at all, at all." "Why, your pulse is normal. Let me examine the lung-action," replied the doctor, kneeling beside the cot and laying his head on the ample chest. "Now, let's hear you talk," he continued, closing his eyes and listening. "What'll Oi be sayin', doctor?" "Oh, say anything. Count one, two, three, and up," murmured the interne, drowsily.
Only once did he speak out, and that was in the beginning, to an interne who was administering the anæsthetic: "Lift that funnel, you squash-headed fool!" he thundered; "don't you see hit's marking of her cheek?" When the work was finished and the unconscious patient had been taken down to her ward, Pop still kept his place beside her.
But he had attempted only to console her. Irrelevant and immaterial to the facts at issue in the case. But she had flung her arms around him. Not he! Never he! The woman was mad. Yes, a mad woman. Dangerous. She had done the same to the interne. Overruled. Overruled. What?
Word Of The Day