"Mr. O'Neill," barked Don, "Dr. Barrington particularly said you—you were not to go up there. He said that Brian's got to have the—the quiet kind around—"
Joan's quick stare of reproach brought the color to his face.
"I—I beg your pardon, Mr. O'Neill," he blurted. "He said—he said he must have quiet."
"It's all right," said Kenny ruefully. "Quite all right. You've been up?" he added quietly.
Don dug his toe into the floor and a hot flush suffused his forehead.
"To tell you the truth," he said with some annoyance, "Doctor Barrington wouldn't let me in. He seems to be able to manage a good many things at once."
"Ah!" said Kenny.
"We must find still another cot," said Joan, pouring coffee at the stove.
So in the dark hours of nervous unrestraint that marked for Don and Kenny that lagging period of terror and suspense, Joan stepped to the helm and steered. And there was need of steering.
Chaos would have reigned without it.