"Hello," he cried brusquely. "Is your hospital ready for patients?"
"We should prefer another day or two of preparation, sir," I replied.
"How long have you been out there now?" he demanded.
"Two days, sir."
"What! At the end of two days you mean to tell me you're not ready! You're very slow."
It was the first time we had been accused of sluggishness. It was undeserved, and I resented it accordingly. I replied—not too politely, I fear:
"You will please remember we had to dismantle and remove the carpets and furniture of a large hotel, take stock of the fixtures and house-clean the building before commencing the setting up of our hospital equipment. We are ready for two hundred patients now—but we prefer another day or two to make everything complete."
"I'll send you two hundred patients to-night," he cried. "Be prepared for them."
The A.D.M.S., a typical English gentleman of the old school, interfered. He called his deputy aside and said to him:
"You mustn't rush patients into a new hospital in this manner. Give them a few days' grace." He turned to me and continued: "You will receive a trainload of patients three days from now. That will give you plenty of time. Kindly inform your commanding officer to this effect."