"Oh, no, sir," beamed the White Linen Nurse. "Not one thing at a time! Oh, no, I couldn't do it that way! Oh, no, sir, I won't do it that way—one thing at a time," she persisted hurriedly. "Why, you might faint away or something might happen—right in the middle of it—right between one direction and another—and I wouldn't know at all—what to turn on or off next—and it might take off one of your legs, you know, or an arm. Oh, no,—not one thing at a time!"
"Good-by—then," croaked the Senior Surgeon. "I'm as good as dead now." A single shudder went through him,—a last futile effort to stretch himself.
"Good-by," said the White Linen Nurse. "Good-by, sir.—I'd heaps rather have you die—perfectly whole—like that—of your own accord—than have me run the risk of starting the car full-tilt and chopping you up so—or dragging you off so—that you didn't find it convenient to tell me—how to stop the car."
"You're a—a—a—" spluttered the Senior Surgeon indistinguishably.
"Crinkle-crackle," went that mysterious, horrid sound from somewhere in the machinery.
"Oh my God!" surrendered the Senior Surgeon. "Do it your own—damned way! Only—only—" His voice cracked raspingly.
"Steady! Steady there!" said the White Linen Nurse. Except for a sudden odd pucker at the end of her nose her expression was still perfectly serene. "Now begin at the beginning," she begged. "Quick! Tell me everything—just the way I must do it! Quick—quick—quick!"
Twice the Senior Surgeon's lips opened and shut with a vain effort to comply with her request.
"But you can't do it," he began all over again. "It isn't possible. You haven't got the mind!"
"Maybe I haven't," said the White Linen Nurse. "But I've got the memory.
Hurry!"