Read Online Nurse in White by Lucy Agnes Hancock - Free Book Online
Authors: Lucy Agnes Hancock
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Frances Blaine asked, quizzical eyes on Ellen. “Dent would sure be flattered to hear that, wouldn’t he, Gaylord?”
“Oh, forget it, Ann,” pleaded Ellen, eager to keep the peace, “and come on over to the house. We haven’t too much time to change before dinner. Thanks, girls. We should have been lost without you.”
“Like fun, we should,” muttered Ann.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ellen asked as they walked the short distance to the nurses’ home. “You’ve been touchy all afternoon.”
“You’d be touchy, too, if you had got word that your best friend had put one over on you.”
“What do you mean? How, put one over?”
“Got herself engaged to the man I’ve been in love with all my life. And has the colossal nerve to write me that she knows I’ll be happy about it because Tip and I have always been so keen about each other. If that isn’t crowding the mourners, I don’t know what you’d call it.”
Ellen smiled. This was the first time she had heard of Ann’s great, deathless love. Ann was always going through some dramatic experience—some crisis in her life. She gave her companion a little push.
“Snap out of it! You’re no more in love with this Tip than I am. Why, Ann, you don’t know what being in love means.”
“Is that so?” snapped Ann. “And I suppose you do?”
Ellen was surprised and annoyed to feel herself reddening. Of course she didn’t.
“Ye-ah!” Ann went on bitterly, deaf to the other’s silence. “Just a little sister of healing—a sweet, sympathetic Florence Nightingale! Wonderful! Only I bet you hate nursing as much as the rest of us do. Don’t tell me you’re satisfied to take care of a bunch of disgustingly selfish sick people all your life, Ellen Gaylord, for I won’t believe it.”
“But it’s true Ann. You know I’m keen about my work. I wish I had money enough to go on and study to become a doctor, but I—I can’t—right now.” Ellen’s voice was quietly sincere. “I’m proud and happy I’m a nurse.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Ann muttered, but some of the angry hurt went out of her voice. She linked her arm in Ellen’s. “Fine Christmas spirit I have—of the Scrooge variety,” she mocked. “Oh, well, I ought to have known that absence ever makes the heart grow fonder of the other gal. Only, I hope they have quintuplets the first year—darn them!” Suddenly, she began to laugh, at first shrilly, then somewhat tearfully. She stifled a sob.
“Life’s a mess, Ellen. You see, I—I really do like Tip—rather a lot!”
“Oh, Ann, I’m sorry!” Ellen said softly, and gave her a quick little hug of sympathy. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“N-not a thing—but—but thanks for being sorry.” She was trying hard to keep from weeping openly and when she reached her room she went in and shut the door. Ellen stood for a moment uncertain what to do. Ann would hate anyone seeing her break down and weep. Better to let her thrash it out by herself, then no one could pity her—Ann hated pity. Poor Ann! Was she truly hurt in her heart, or was it just her pride that suffered?
Ellen slipped into a clean uniform and stood for a moment contemplating the packages on her dressing table. All of them bore the legend Not to Be Opened until Christmas or some similar admonition. She went to her closet and collected an armful of gaily wrapped gifts. She would distribute them now, before dinner. They were simple gifts—not one of them costly; a handmade handkerchief, a corsage of ribbon flowers, sweet-smelling sachets, gaily decorated hangers. The salaries of the graduate nurses at Anthony Ware had never been large and just lately had been pared even more. The student nurses received no compensation whatever, and there was not a wealthy girl in the house, so gifts were of necessity inexpensive. But as she deposited the last package, Ellen murmured, “They’re peaches, every one of them, and the hospital should be
“Oh, forget it, Ann,” pleaded Ellen, eager to keep the peace, “and come on over to the house. We haven’t too much time to change before dinner. Thanks, girls. We should have been lost without you.”
“Like fun, we should,” muttered Ann.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ellen asked as they walked the short distance to the nurses’ home. “You’ve been touchy all afternoon.”
“You’d be touchy, too, if you had got word that your best friend had put one over on you.”
“What do you mean? How, put one over?”
“Got herself engaged to the man I’ve been in love with all my life. And has the colossal nerve to write me that she knows I’ll be happy about it because Tip and I have always been so keen about each other. If that isn’t crowding the mourners, I don’t know what you’d call it.”
Ellen smiled. This was the first time she had heard of Ann’s great, deathless love. Ann was always going through some dramatic experience—some crisis in her life. She gave her companion a little push.
“Snap out of it! You’re no more in love with this Tip than I am. Why, Ann, you don’t know what being in love means.”
“Is that so?” snapped Ann. “And I suppose you do?”
Ellen was surprised and annoyed to feel herself reddening. Of course she didn’t.
“Ye-ah!” Ann went on bitterly, deaf to the other’s silence. “Just a little sister of healing—a sweet, sympathetic Florence Nightingale! Wonderful! Only I bet you hate nursing as much as the rest of us do. Don’t tell me you’re satisfied to take care of a bunch of disgustingly selfish sick people all your life, Ellen Gaylord, for I won’t believe it.”
“But it’s true Ann. You know I’m keen about my work. I wish I had money enough to go on and study to become a doctor, but I—I can’t—right now.” Ellen’s voice was quietly sincere. “I’m proud and happy I’m a nurse.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Ann muttered, but some of the angry hurt went out of her voice. She linked her arm in Ellen’s. “Fine Christmas spirit I have—of the Scrooge variety,” she mocked. “Oh, well, I ought to have known that absence ever makes the heart grow fonder of the other gal. Only, I hope they have quintuplets the first year—darn them!” Suddenly, she began to laugh, at first shrilly, then somewhat tearfully. She stifled a sob.
“Life’s a mess, Ellen. You see, I—I really do like Tip—rather a lot!”
“Oh, Ann, I’m sorry!” Ellen said softly, and gave her a quick little hug of sympathy. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“N-not a thing—but—but thanks for being sorry.” She was trying hard to keep from weeping openly and when she reached her room she went in and shut the door. Ellen stood for a moment uncertain what to do. Ann would hate anyone seeing her break down and weep. Better to let her thrash it out by herself, then no one could pity her—Ann hated pity. Poor Ann! Was she truly hurt in her heart, or was it just her pride that suffered?
Ellen slipped into a clean uniform and stood for a moment contemplating the packages on her dressing table. All of them bore the legend Not to Be Opened until Christmas or some similar admonition. She went to her closet and collected an armful of gaily wrapped gifts. She would distribute them now, before dinner. They were simple gifts—not one of them costly; a handmade handkerchief, a corsage of ribbon flowers, sweet-smelling sachets, gaily decorated hangers. The salaries of the graduate nurses at Anthony Ware had never been large and just lately had been pared even more. The student nurses received no compensation whatever, and there was not a wealthy girl in the house, so gifts were of necessity inexpensive. But as she deposited the last package, Ellen murmured, “They’re peaches, every one of them, and the hospital should be
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