The day had been a hard one. The operating room nurses were fagged. Two or three probationers had been sent to help cleanup, and a senior nurse. Wilson's eyes caught the nurse's eyes as she passed him.
“Here, too, Miss Harrison!” he said gayly. “Have they set you on my trail?”
With the eyes of the room on her, the girl answered primly:—
“I'm to be in your office in the mornings, Dr. Wilson, and anywhere I am needed in the afternoons.”
“And your vacation?”
“I shall take it when Miss Simpson comes back.”
Although he went on at once with his conversation with the interne, he still heard the click of her heels about the room. He had not lost the fact that she had flushed when he spoke to her. The mischief that was latent in him came to the surface. When he had rinsed his hands, he followed her, carrying the towel to where she stood talking to the superintendent of the training school.
“Thanks very much, Miss Gregg,” he said. “Everything went off nicely.”
“I was sorry about that catgut. We have no trouble with what we prepare ourselves. But with so many operations—”
He was in a magnanimous mood. He smiled at Miss Gregg, who was elderly and gray, but visibly his creature.
“That's all right. It's the first time, and of course it will be the last.”
“The sponge list, doctor.”
He glanced over it, noting accurately sponges prepared, used, turned in. But he missed no gesture of the girl who stood beside Miss Gregg.
“All right.” He returned the list. “That was a mighty pretty probationer I brought you yesterday.”
Two small frowning lines appeared between Miss Harrison's dark brows. He caught them, caught her somber eyes too, and was amused and rather stimulated.
“She is very young.”
“Prefer 'em
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