“The first thing a nurse should learn,” he bent forward smiling, “is not
to alarm her patient.”
“But you don’t understand the danger,” I said despairingly. “Oh, if only
men had a little bit of sense!”
“I must do something desperate then? Have the thumb cut off, perhaps?”
I did not answer. I lay back on my pillows with my eyes shut. I had
given him the plague, had seen him die and be buried, before he spoke
again.
“The chin,” he said, “is not so firm as I had thought. The outlines are
savage, but the dimple—— You poor little thing; are you really
frightened?”
“I don’t like you,” I said furiously. “But I’d hate to see any one
with—with that trouble.”
“Then I’ll confess. I was trying to take your mind off your troubles.
The bite is there, but harmless. Those were new ferrets; had never been
out.”
I did not speak to him again. I was seething with indignation. He stood
for a time looking down at me; then, unexpectedly, he bent over and
touched his lips to my bandaged arm.
“Poor arm!” he said. “Poor, brave little arm!” Then he tiptoed out of
the room. His very back was sheepish.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
--Silently corrected obvious typographical errors; left non-standard
spellings and dialect unchanged.