"Yes, I know," she protested. "But I'm all through giggling now. I'm
sorry--I'm--"

In sheer apprehensiveness the Senior Surgeon's features crinkled
wincingly from brow to chin as though struggling vainly to retreat from
the appalling proximity of the girl's face.

"Your--eyelashes--are too long," he complained querulously.

"Eh?" jerked the White Linen Nurse's face. "Is it your brain that's
hurt? Oh, sir, do you think it's your brain that's hurt?"

"It's my stomach!" snapped the Senior Surgeon. "I tell you I 'm not
hurt,--I'm just--squashed! I'm paralyzed! If I can't get this car off
me--"

"Yes, that's just it," beamed the White Linen Nurse's face. "That's just
what I crawled in here to find out,--how to get the car off you. That's
just what I want to find out. I could run for help, of course,--only I
couldn't run, 'cause my knees are so wobbly. It would take hours--and
the car might start or burn up or something while I was gone. But you
don't seem to be caught anywhere on the machinery," she added more
brightly, "it only seems to be sitting on you. So if I could only get
the car off you! But it's so heavy. I had no idea it would be so heavy.
Could I take it apart, do you think? Is there any one place where I
could begin at the beginning and take it all apart?"

"Take it apart--Hell!" groaned the Senior Surgeon.