"Well?" said Mrs. Waxe.
"Well," returned the nurse, "I opened the window. Did not know the ward had been used lately. Pretty bad case, wasn't it?"
"Bad case?" repeated Mrs. Waxe, a light shining through her nostrils to her brain. "Yes; perhaps."
"Perhaps?" repeated the private nurse satirically. "I guess I ought to know by this time. I should say there hadn't been much left of that case to put under ground."
She went back to her case, wondering at the stupidity of the English generally and in particular.
Mrs. Waxe put her aching foot into hot water and meditated.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
The twenty-eighth of February dawned dark, for a blizzard from the northwest was blowing. It was the worst storm of the last half of the century.
Men were lost and frozen to death in the streets while going from their business houses to their homes.
A lady attempting to alight from a carriage at one of the railroad stations, in order to make an outgoing train , slipped, or was blown down upon the icy pavement. She was taken up insensible and carried to the nearest hospital.
"I do not think we have even a corner vacant," said the superintendent; "but of course she cannot leave the building now."
She sent for Mrs. Waxe.
"The Prince Ward is unoccupied?"
The head nurse glanced at the stretcher and hesitated.
"Yes; but it is next to impossible to heat it, you know, doctor."
"Do the best you can," replied the superintendent. "The woman should have been taken to the Emergency, but you see what the weather is."
Mrs. Waxe divested the traveler of her velvet and furs, her lace and linen, the bag of diamonds secreted in her bosom, her long perfumed gloves, her silk underwear, her jeweled garters and hairpins. She left nothing on her but the black pearls in her ears and the magnificent rings on her fingers; then slipped a hospital shirt on her fair body, and tucked her shining curls into a cap. The fall had fractured the bone of one leg and several ribs.
