“You are the last in line, so I’m a half minute late in bringing it to you,” the student nurse apologized, poising her tray. “Want to sit up?”
“Please, nurse,” Rose responded in a very helpless voice.
The nurse wound up her bed, took away the wash basin and Rose began her supper.
It fitted in exactly with her mood, and seemed, at the moment, much nicer than the meals she had in the nurses’ dining room.
Cream of tomato soup, and batter-bread and liver with bacon and lots of gravy, and lettuce salad with thousand island dressing, and then for dessert stewed pears ... the only stewed fruit she liked. How utterly lucky!
She began “tasting” and discovered that her milk had real cream in it, too. That was sumptuous!
She ate with a dainty grace which captivated Mrs. Witherspoon, who put down her soup bowl from which she had been drinking, and announced “Birdlike! That’s what you are! Set a body wondering soon as I seen you. Lift your fork as refined as a canary does his foot. Pleasure to watch you at your victuals, dearie.”
Rose laughed and blushed simultaneously.
Ward women made you feel so nice, somehow....
At seven Miss Kexter and the student nurse went off duty. They had both come to her and asked if there was anything she specially wanted before they left. But, of course, there wasn’t, and Miss Kexter had said, “Please be alive in the morning, Standish.”