He was a smart new clinical thermometer. She was a pretty nurse in
an influenza ward. His figurings were clear and his quicksilver
glittered. Her eyes were blue and a little curl peeped from under her
cap. He fell madly in love with her; and when her dainty fingers toyed
with him his little heart swelled to bursting and he registered all he
could.
So when she took her morning temperatures her patients were
desperately high, and when the other nurse took them in the evening
they were three degrees lower; and the doctors were much perplexed.
They put the love-struck thermometer in a tumbler of warm water with
two others to test him; and, freed from her influence, he recorded
correctly. Learned authorities on medical research meditated
pamphlets, on the new variation of the universal plague.
Then came a morning when the pretty nurse, after too many cigarettes
the night before, took her own temperature. For the adoring
thermometer the supreme moment had arrived. In rapturous ecstasy at
the touch of her dear lips he rose to heights of exaltation that left
his other efforts far behind. "Drat the thing," exclaimed the pretty
nurse, putting him down nastily, "I've got it myself now," and went
off to bed. He, broken-hearted, rolled off the table and died.
* * * * *