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"Twenty-two's the best you kin do?" queried the lanky woman querulously. "That is the market price." "Wal! lemme see some cheap gingham. It don't matter abeout the pattern. It's only for Emmy here, and it don't matter what 'tis that covers her bones' long's it does cover 'em. Will this fade?" "I don't think so," Mrs.
"And it isn't allowed, I'm sure." However, what was one more rule to her who had defied them all? A spirit of recklessness seized her. After all, why not? She would never see him again. Like the operating-room, she would stand in the doorway and say a mute little farewell. Twenty-two's door was wide open, and he was standing in the centre of the room, looking out.
To Twenty-two's unbounded amazement she flung down the cushion and made for the little ward linen room. He found her there a moment later, her arms outstretched on the table and her face buried in them. Some one had been boiling a rubber tube and had let the pan go dry.
"The stork breaks quarantine. New baby in O ward. The chief engineer has developed a boil on his neck. Elevator Man arrested for breaking speed limit. Wanted, four square inches of cuticle for skin grafting in W. How's that? And I'm only beginning." Jane Brown listened. Somehow, behind Twenty-two's lightness of tone, she felt something more earnest.
Carefully powdered-out lines of her face seemed to emerge suddenly through the conserved creaminess of her skin. Thirty-four, in its unguarded moments, will out. Miss Becker had almost detained twenty's waistline and twenty-two's ardent thrust of face. It was only the indentures of time that had begun to tell slightly indentures that powder could not putty out.
He had a wicked hope, at the beginning, that the Senior Surgical Interne had been shut out, but at nine o'clock that evening that young gentleman showed up at the door of his room, said "Cheer-o," came in, helped himself to a cigarette, gave a professional glance at Twenty-two's toes, which were all that was un-plastered of the leg, and departing threw back over his shoulder his sole conversational effort: "Hell of a mess, isn't it?"
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