For the first time the spinster was flustered.
“Oh, perhaps I read it wrong! Let me look again.”
After much fumbling and peering she became apologetic.
“I see I did make a mistake. It’s twenty-six.”
“Perhaps,” said the little lecturer hopelessly, “if I just went over the readings of the thermometer with you all once more----”
“Would you mind”--the harassed secretary seized her by the elbow--“would you mind coming to superintend the bed-making? I’ve got to take the bandage class, and Nurse Blacker can’t really manage more than twenty with the compresses.”
The whole room was full of the clapper of excited female tongues. The Signorina was not sorry to leave the jug of warm water and the extraordinary fluctuating temperatures. She was followed by the summer visitors, motor veils and ribbons flying.
As she left, a cheerful, red-faced lady was heard to announce casually, as she dropped the fat wrist of the veterinary’s daughter, that there was no use her trying to take that pulse, as the girl hadn’t got any.
The clamorous group surrounded the camp-bed, upon which was stretched a sardonic boy-scout, fully clothed, down to his clumping boots. He was aged about twelve, and assisted in the education of the “lidies” by commenting from time to time on their efforts in hoarse tones of cynicism. After one impulsive neophyte had seemed to be practising tossing him in a blanket, he remarked into space: “Nurses are not suppowsed to move the pytient.”
And to another who jerked his heels up: “Down’t you forget, miss, I’m a bad caise!”
The Signorina had never been taught how to make beds in the true hospital fashion before, and was painstakingly absorbed in the intricacies of rolling sheets without churning the “bad caise,” when she was seized upon by one of the flutterers from the hotel.
“We’re going now; it’s been _so_ interesting, we _have_ enjoyed it. I shan’t forget all you told me about temperatures. I feel quite able to look after our dear fellows already. Oh! I _must_ tell you. You’ve got such a sympathetic face. I’m sure you will understand. I had a most _wonderful_ revelation the other day, in church--in London, you know. I had such an extraordinary feeling--just as if something came over me--and I thought the church was full of dead soldiers; and a voice seemed to say to me: ‘Pray.’ I felt quite uplifted. And then in a minute it was all gone. Wasn’t it wonderful? That kind of thing makes one feel so _strong_, doesn’t it? Oh, I knew you would understand. The last news is _very_ disquieting, isn’t it? What a darling little fellow!”