Belinda of the Red Cross

BY ROBERT W. HAMILTON
FRONTISPIECE BY A. O. SCOTT
NEW YORK SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
Copyright, 1917, by SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
BELINDA
Two white-uniformed orderlies guided the stretcher on its rubber-tired wheels into the corridor—the corridor which was all white tile, marble, enameled steel and glass.
The military-looking surgeon stalking ahead had not adjusted his mask; the jetty, cropped beard he wore on his full chin gave his countenance an especially sinister expression. His black eyes—their glance of a peculiarly penetrating quality—embraced the two immaculately dressed nurses on the settee beside the door of the operating room. Sue Blaine and Belinda Melnotte had just been speaking of the Herr Doktor; perhaps they looked conscious under his swift, keen scrutiny.
Sue Blaine had begun tragically: Belinda, I hear the elevator creaking again. It's either you or me to assist the Herr Doktor. And I'm so tired of it all!
Yet you took upon yourself the novitiate of a trained nurse for two years. Belinda Melnotte's laugh was low, full, delicious. It was no saccharine giggle, but came from a splendid chest in a robust body with a bell-like tone to it that delighted the ear. Two whole years, Sue! Still, I wish I were just entering, after all.
What? gasped the other. Why! when I am through here I shall incinerate my apron, cap and first-aid kit with appropriate ceremonies in our back-yard. I'll refuse even to do up my little brother's finger if he cuts it. No, I am through— through !
Hush! The Herr Doktor! Belinda Melnotte breathed.