The hospital was filled to overflowing with grippe cases. The epidemic was raging in the city, and the Prince Ward was the only vacant spot in the place. Its defective register had prevented its use. It could be but insufficiently heated from the fireplace.
Mrs. Waxe went to it at once and turned on the electric light. She then stripped the bed of everything except the springs, carried the small table to the other side of the room, put out the light, took up the hand bell, and locked the door as she went out.
She then sat down at the table in the corridor, opened a Bible, and began to read.
She had read perhaps fifteen minutes when a bell tinkled. Her long experience enabled her to locate it almost immediately. She went to the ward adjoining the Prince.
No; the patient there had not rung for her, but was awake and sure the bell next her on the right was the one. It had rung before.
The Prince Ward was on the right. As Mrs. Waxe stepped into the corridor the bell sounded again.
It was in the Prince Ward. The English woman was convinced that an ugly trick was being played.
Thoroughly indignant, she unlocked the door and stepped within. A low moaning and a peculiar unpleasant odor arrested her progress towards the electric button. The first turned her ruddiness pale; the second made her sick. Her foot slipped; she stumbled, twisted her ankle, and, being a heavy woman, she fell on her knees, catching at the bed-rail. A hand crept upon her shoulder, striking cold through her gingham dress.
"Water!" breathed a hoarse voice at her ear inarticulately. "Water!"
In spite of the strained ankle, the head nurse got upon her feet. She staggered out of the room, followed by the moaning cry of "Water—water."
She shut the door behind her and crept along the corridor, holding to the wall; then called one of the private nurses and bade her light up the Prince Ward. The woman did so, remained in the room a few moments, then came back leisurely.
