He ducked into a shadow. He peered. His knees trembled slightly.
Miss Kerr turned and scrutinized the street. The search showed enraged dignity but bore no traces of fear. After a fruitless survey, she carefully raised the umbrella and proceeded toward the hospital.
Ten minutes later Dr. Ethridge Sterling, Junior, strode through Ward B, Medicine Clinic. Beside him the fat interne sweated profusely. He was gasping:
“The morphia didn’t hold. She’s awake and raising ... raising....”
“Hell?”
The interne gave a relieved nod. The night nurse rocked her heels in tune with theirs. Cub turned to her and said:
“I understand. I understand. Nurse, you go back to your ward. Doctor, you may return to Ward A. I’ll tend to her myself....”
The interne hesitated and a fine hope glistened:
“Doctor Sterling ... are you ... is there to be a decompression?”
“Not unless absolutely necessary.” Cub’s voice was very grave, “I’ll call you if I need assistance, Doctor.”