“I’m Nancy Dale, and they tell me you’re Mabel Larsen.”
“Glad you came. Sorry I can’t be very formal just now, but I’m all in—got only fifteen minutes to get my wind back.” She groaned softly. “Gosh, but my legs ache!”
“What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“Oh, nothing that won’t be worse tomorrow! Just wait till you try those hurdles!” Mabel turned over cautiously and groaned again. “I might’ve been pounded by Japs from the way these shanks feel.”
Nancy laughed in spite of herself. “You must’ve been neglecting your daily dozen before you came here.”
“I’ve never been one of those exercise addicts,” stated Mabel. “I’ve always gotten enough floor work in the wards without this one, two, three business.” Mabel reached for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and began to massage her rather plump legs.
“Wait, let me do it,” said Nancy.
Mabel lay back on the bed and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the soothing touch of Nancy’s hands.
“You oughter been a masseuse,” she sighed. Then after a moment she asked, “Why were you so late? We thought you were coming on that early train.”
“There was a wreck,” said Nancy, reluctant to recall her trying experience.