CHAPTER XX
THE doctors who instructed the classes at the Alliance were young practicing physicians of the best training and reputation in the city, and they offered their services to the Red Cross Society without remuneration. Reba had been in awe of them at first. For a week or so she invariably selected a certain button on their waistcoats to gaze at before she replied to their requests or inquiries, as they stood expectant before her desk, as if by keeping her eyes steadfast she could thereby control her voice and manner. Rarely did her eyes sweep their faces, and only when her glance was on a journey somewhere else—to reference book, clock, or insisting telephone.
She knew the doctors' names, but she hadn't the courage to use them. They "Miss Jeromed" her repeatedly.
"O Miss Jerome, will you send some arm-splints and bandages to room 20," or, "Miss Jerome, messenger-boy, please, to resuscitate," or "Miss Jerome, be so kind as to call the roll for me, will you?"
Reba wished with all her heart that she might reply in the same easy off-hand manner, but she couldn't. Words stuck. Her answers were always brief, "Yes," and, "Certainly," or "Very well."
But beneath that short businesslike air of hers, which many a man would mistake for indifference, her heart was hammering and pounding a half a dozen times an evening. She experienced the keenest delight at
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