Dr. Carver (addressing one of the nurses). You become your cap to-day. You have an uncommonly good color—I mean to operate on No. 21.
Nurse. Do you really? We thought her improving. She’s nervous to-day—on account of Dr. Thorne.
Dr. Carver. Yes. Thorne had things all his own way here, as usual. I mean to operate,—if Dr. Gazell can manage her.
Nurse (coquettishly). You are so expert,—such an easy surgeon. You don’t mind it more than a layman would carving a Christmas goo—oose. And what would you operate for—on No. 21?
Dr. Carver. Appendicitis, of course.
Nurse. Really? You are so clever on diagnosis. Now, I hadn’t thought of appendicitis—in her case. Do you know—I thought it more like pleurisy?
Dr. Carver (looks keenly at the nurse to discover if she is making game of him; speaks pompously). The nurse, as you have been taught in your training-school, can have no opinions. Now, the physician—
Nurse (demurely). Oh, of course. I wouldn’t have you think I’m presuming to set up mine. She might have measles, or the grippe, for anything I should know.
Dr. Carver. Now you speak very properly indeed.
Dr. Gazell (at bedside of No. 21). Is the pain more severe on the right?