"Why not?" demanded the Senior Surgeon with a rather noisy click of his
glove fasteners.

"Because--my--face--is--tired," said the girl quite simply.

The explosive wrath on the Senior Surgeon's countenance seemed to be
directed suddenly at the Superintendent.

"Is this an afternoon tea?" he asked tartly. "With six major operations
this morning and a probable meningitis diagnosis ahead of me this
afternoon I think I might be spared the babblings of an hysterical
nurse!" Casually over his shoulder he nodded at the girl. "You're a
fool!" he said, and started for the door.

Just on the threshold he turned abruptly and looked back. His forehead
was furrowed like a corduroy road and the one rampant question in his
mind at the moment seemed to be mired hopelessly between his bushy
eyebrows.

"Lord!" he exclaimed a bit flounderingly. "Are _you_ the nurse that
helped me last week on that fractured skull?"

"Yes, sir," said Rae Malgregor.

Jerkily the Senior Surgeon retraced his footsteps into the office and
stood facing her as though with some really terrible accusation.

"And the freak abdominal?" he quizzed sharply. "Was it _you_ who
threaded that needle for me so blamed slowly--and calmly--and surely,
while all the rest of us were jumping up and down and cursing you--for