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Josephine. "I show you my feets, you want to see 'em. All I ask is you stan' right there so's 'at coffee runs down on your shoes 'stead of my floor, an'-"
    Miss Baker looked down at her ruined uniform. She fled out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
    Sorrowfully, for success had been in her grasp, Josephine reached behind her and removed the knife from its improvised holster of apron strings. Holding it to her mouth, she breathed a cleansing film of moisture onto the blade and polished it against her bosom. She took meat from the refrigerator, and began slicing it for lunch.
    Josephine sighed, her thoughts moving from the apparently hopeless project represented by Miss Baker, to the incredible density of Doctor Murphy's mind. To the latest proof of that density. The condition of Susan Kenfield.
    That was somethin'-Josephine chuckled sourly-yes, sir, that was really somethin'. She wished Ol' Mam had been with her, peering out through the kitchen serving-window, when they'd brought Miz' Kenfield in. Ol' Man or Granny Blue Gum-Granny who was bat-blind and stone-deaf. Because it helped if you could see and hear, but you didn't really have to. It was mostly the smell that you went by. That smell- and how could folks say it wasn't there just because they couldn't smell it?-that didn't tell no lies.
    Josephine picked up a slice of meat, stuffed it into her mouth, and chewed reflectively. Maybe… huh-uh; her head moved in a silent but positive negative. They'd laugh at her. Didn't want her to laugh, but they were always waiting for a chance to laugh at her. So let 'em find out for themselves. It sure wouldn't be long until they did find out.
    Any old time now, Miz' Kenfield would be poppin' that baby.

9
    Bernie Edmonds stepped back from the slightly opened door of the Holcombs' double room, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand curved together in a symbol of success.
    "Gone on by," he grinned. "Looks like he was headed for the terrace."
    "I thought you were a little brusque with him," said John Holcomb. "Didn't you think so, brother?"
    "We-ell," said Gerald Holcomb, "I suppose one might say Bernie was unnecessarily firm, but the young man has been succeeding reasonably well on his own. We don't want to dull his incentive."
    "True, oh, very true, brother," said John, "And, of course, we had considerably more whiskey at the time we made our offer." He chuckled and turned to Gerald. "Will you do the honors, brother? I'm afraid I haven't enough left to divide."
    "A pleasure, brother," said Gerald.
    Rising, he undid the belt of his pajamas and let them drop to his knees, A full pint of whiskey was fastened to the inside of his right thigh with a strip of adhesive tape. He removed the tape, measured half of the whiskey into the glasses which Bernie had taken from beneath the bed, and readjusted the bottle and his pajamas.
    They toasted each other.
    They were friends. For the moment they were relaxed, comfortable. They were not three but one, and defenses were unnecessary.
    John Holcomb lifted one plump buttock from his chair, and rubbed it tenderly. "You get a shot in the tail yesterday, brother? From the nurse, I mean?"
    "Did I!" said Gerald. "What about you, Bernie?"
    "Huh-uh." Bernie rolled his head. "Doc took care of me. I'll tell you about that nurse..
    He proceeded to tell them, his opinion being that no shots should be taken from Miss Baker in a position which prevented one from watching her. "Probably doesn't get enough," he concluded. "One look at a man's ass and she loses control."
    The brothers laughed. They raised their glasses again, and again each stole a glance at the remainder of his drink. There was no thought in any of their minds of complaining to Doctor Murphy about Nurse Baker's roughness. El Healtho was far superior to any of the many other sanitariums they had patronized. Miss Baker, despite the occasional painfulness of her ministrations, was far superior to any of the establishment's previous nurses. Finally,