“Like a coffin!”
He glanced at me sharply.
“Like a coffin,” he repeated stubbornly. “I don’t like it.”
“Nonsense,” I said, recovering myself and reaching for a pillow. “You aren’t used to it, that’s all.”
“What do they make them so high for?” he said peevishly, peering over the edge of the bed. “If I’d fall out I’d have a long way to go.”
“You’re not going to fall out,” I reassured him. “And if they didn’t make them high we nurses would break our backs. That is the greatest life-saver for nurses that anybody ever found. You see, if they were built at the height of ordinary beds we would have to bend away over——”
“Well, they don’t have to be so narrow,” he interrupted sulkily. “Every time I turn over I have to grab to save myself from going out.”
“Oh, it isn’t that bad, is it?” I plumped the pillows briskly, replaced them and pulled the draw sheet straight. “Now, that will be better. Try to relax and lie quiet.”
He subsided on the pillow, still muttering childishly.
It seemed close in the room, so I raised the window higher and brought him a fresh drink of water. Of course, if the window had already been up I should have lowered it; I make it a point to fuss around the room a little just to make the patient think I’m doing things for his comfort, and nine times out of ten he will drop off to sleep at once.