“What?” Miss Withers’ breath pushed each letter through the receiver.
“Reporting the death....” the student nurse’s voice began to quaver it out again.
“I heard you before, child! Are you sure? No pulse? No respiration? Draw the curtains and leave everything exactly ... exactly, you understand until your superiors come....”
There seemed to be no response and Miss Withers feared the nurse had fainted.
“Can you hear me?” the authority in her voice would have revived the dead woman, if she had been nearer.
“Yes’m,” the girl breathed.
“Then do as I order.”
The night operator of the hospital was interrupted in her regular reverie as to whether she could get into the movies, by Miss Withers:
“Get Dr. Mattus. Get the morgue. Get Dr. Ethridge Sterling, Junior. Get Dr. Sarah James ... and get Miss Kerr.”
The telephone girl decided that was enough for the present and rang off.