Horridly from some unlocatable quarter of the engine an alarming little tremor quickened suddenly and was hushed again.
"Get out of here—quick!" stormed the Senior Surgeon's ghastly face.
"I won't!" said the White Linen Nurse's face. "Until you tell me—what to do!"
Brutally for an instant the ingenuous blue eyes and the cynical gray eyes battled each other.
"Can you do what you're told?" faltered the Senior Surgeon.
"Oh, yes," said the White Linen Nurse.
"I mean can you do exactly—what you're told?" gasped the Senior Surgeon. "Can you follow directions, I mean? Can you follow them—explicitly? Or are you one of those people who listens only to her own judgment?"
"Oh, but I haven't got any—judgment," protested the White Linen Nurse.
Palpably in the Senior Surgeon's blood-shot eyes the leisurely seeming diagnosis leaped to precipitous conclusions.
"Then get out of here—quick—for God's sake—and get to work!" he ordered.