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Updated: May 9, 2025
From behind her desk the austere Superintendent twisted her neck most informally to decipher the scrawling hieroglyphics. "Don't Ever Be bumptious!" she read forth jerkily with a questioning, incredulous sort of emphasis. "Don't ever be bumptious?" squinted the Senior Surgeon perplexedly through his glasses. "Yes," said Rae Malgregor very timidly. "It's my motto."
There are such loads and loads of experiments I want to try while you are off on your spree!" "S h h!" cried the Senior Surgeon. His face was suddenly blanched, his mouth, twitching like the mouth of one stricken with almost insupportable pain. "For God's sake, Miss Malgregor!" he pleaded, "can't you call it my Canadian trip?" Wider and wider the White Linen Nurse opened her big blue eyes at him.
With extraordinary intentness for a moment the Senior Surgeon sat staring into the girl's eyes, the blue, blue eyes too full of childish questioning yet to flinch with either consciousness or embarrassment. "After all, Rae Malgregor," he smiled at last, faintly "After all, Rae Malgregor, Heaven knows when I shall ever get another holiday!" "Yes, sir?" said the White Linen Nurse.
Almost crazed with new terror Rae Malgregor went dodging to the right, to the left, to the right again, cleared the rocking-chair, a scuffle with padded hands, climbed the trunk, a race with padded feet, reached the door-handle at last, yanked the door open, and with lungs and temper fairly bursting with momentum, shot down the hall, down some stairs, down some more hall, down some more stairs, to the Superintendent's office where, with her precious motto still clutched securely in one hand, she broke upon that dignitary's startled, near-sighted vision like a young whirl-wind of linen and starch and flapping brown paper.
With her pale, ivory-tinted cheeks, her great limpid brown eyes, her soft dark hair parted madonna-like across her beautiful brow, her whole face was like some exquisite, composite picture of all the saints of history. Her voice also was amazingly tranquil. "Oh, Fudge!" she drawled. "What's eating you, Rae Malgregor? I won't either get out! It's my room just as much as it is yours!
A man who knows enough to be a doctor isn't particularly apt to lead any other kind. Frankly, as women rate vices I believe I have only one. What what I'm trying to tell you now is about that one." A little defiantly as to chin, a little appealingly as to eye, he emptied his heart of its last tragic secret. "Through all the male line of my family, Miss Malgregor, dipsomania runs rampant.
With characteristic desire to keep up in every way with her more mature, better educated classmates, to do everything, in fact, so fast, so well, that no one should possibly guess that she hadn't yet figured out just why she was doing it at all, Rae Malgregor now with quickly readjusted cap and collar began to hurl herself into the task of her own packing.
He's a brakeman or something. He's a " Perfectly unreluctantly Rae Malgregor dropped the fluff of lace and ribbons into Zillah's lap and reached out with cheerful voraciousness to annex the young man's picture to her somewhat bleak possessions. "Oh, I don't care a rap who he is," she interrupted briskly.
With a gesture of ill-concealed impatience the Superintendent shrugged the absurd speech aside. "Dr. Faber," she said, "won't you just please assure Miss Malgregor once more that the little Italian boy's death last week was in no conceivable way her fault, that nobody blames her in the slightest, or holds her in any possible way responsible." "Why, what nonsense!" snapped the Senior Surgeon.
And she shows it. We have lived alone for six years. All of our clothes, and most of our ways, need mending. I am not one to mince matters, Miss Malgregor, nor has your training, I trust, made you one from whom truths must be veiled. I am a man with all a man's needs, mental, moral, physical. My child is a child with all a child's needs, mental, moral, physical.
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