“Nothing knocks her out,” declared the registry clerk. “She wouldn’t mind holding a man’s legs while the doctor cut off his arm. Blood’s nothing more than water to her. Doctors like her because she attends strictly to business, but the patients get fed up on her. They say she isn’t human.”
All this was poured forth in a gushing stream, when Josie asked quite mildly if the girl happened to know a nurse by the name of Fitchet, explaining she did not know her personally but that she had some friends who knew her and they had suggested her as a person who might care for Josie’s great uncle (a purely fictitious person). The great uncle had not arrived in Louisville, but was expected shortly, and would perhaps need a nurse. Josie was not sure of this. She just thought she would step around and ask about Fitchet.
“She’s got a job just now in Florida—at least she did have one—but we’ve word from the party employing her that she has left them without giving notice and now they’re trying to have us send them another. It is no trouble for Fitchet to get a job, so I don’t mind telling you that if you love your great uncle, I wouldn’t fool with Fitchet. She’s liable to make him will her all his money and then starve him to death. I’ve heard plenty of patients say that she eats up the goodies sent to them right before their eyes, declaring they are too rich for sick folks. I don’t like her, and I don’t care who knows it. I don’t generally talk out this way to customers but I take such an interest in your poor, dear great uncle. She’d land the poor dear man in the grave in a month and then you’d find a will in her favor. She’s a slick one, with her head cocked on one side and a grin like a panther.”
“Did she come back to Louisville when she left the people in Florida?” asked Josie, laughing.
“Not yet! I reckon she’s frying fish somewheres else. But, young lady, if you are hunting a nurse you let me recommend a lovely girl I know. She’s as sweet as a peach and so accommodating she’ll cook and clean up if need be and wash out the baby’s little sacques and socks—and press his cap, strings and all.”
“But my great uncle doesn’t wear sacques and caps and I fancy he can get someone else to wash his socks,” teased Josie.
“Oh, yes, I forgot. I was thinkin’ ’twas a baby. Anyhow, don’t get Fitchet.”
“All right, I won’t,” agreed Josie.
“Won’t you leave your name and address?” suggested the girl. “My boss always wants folks to leave their names and addresses.”
“There’s hardly any use,” said Josie. “I’m not sure my great uncle is coming, and if he does it is but a step to come to your office and see you. I think a personal interview is so satisfactory. Don’t you? Besides, I shall enjoy seeing you again.”