“You’re a—a—a—” spluttered the Senior Surgeon, incoherently.
“Crinkle-crackle!” went that mysterious, horrid sound from somewhere in the machinery.
“Oh, my God!” surrendered the Senior Surgeon, “do it your own—damned way! Only—only—” His voice cracked raspingly.
“Steady! Steady there!” said the White Linen Nurse. Except for a sudden odd pucker at the end of her nose her expression was still perfectly serene. “Now begin at the beginning,” she begged. “Quick! Tell me everything just the way I must do it! Quick! quick! quick!”
Twice the Senior Surgeon’s lips opened and shut with a vain effort to comply with her request.
“But you can’t do it,” he began all over again; “it isn’t possible. You haven’t got the mind.”
“Maybe I haven’t,” said the White Linen Nurse; “but I’ve got the memory. Hurry!”
“Creak!” said the funny little something in the machinery.
“Oh, get in there quick!” surrendered the Senior Surgeon. “Sit down behind the wheel!” he shouted after her flying footsteps. “Are you there? For God’s sake, are you there? Do you see those two little levers where your right hand comes? For God’s sake, don’t you know what a lever is? Quick now! Do just what I tell you!”
A little jerkily then, but very clearly, very concisely, the Senior Surgeon called out to the White Linen Nurse just how every lever, every pedal, should be manipulated to start the car.