the first lift. I'll show you." He leaned over Reba. "Put your right arm over my shoulder, back of my neck, please," he instructed.
Reba did exactly as she was bidden. Dr. Booth slipped his arms beneath her.
"A little firmer grasp with the right arm, please, Miss Jerome."
His face was very close to hers. She could see the brown flecks in his steely blue eyes.
"That's better. Now!" he said, and with apparently little effort, Reba felt her one hundred and eighteen pounds lifted in firm, skillful arms; supported against a strong, solid, softish wall, a little warm; carried across the room, and back; while the lecturer continued his explanations, as if she had been so much merchandise, laid her skillfully back upon the bed without a jar or jolt, and straightening himself afterward, made flawless again, with little masculine motions, slightly disarranged sleeve, cuff, and coat-collar.
"Oh, it looked so easy," exclaimed one of the elderly women.
"Let me see if I can do it," twittered another.
"And me, too," said a third, slipping off a tight jacket, and laying aside notebook and pencil.
How the old ladies tugged and pulled, exerted and strained, and the one who did succeed finally in getting Reba up off the bed into her arms (she was full-busted and short-armed), how she wheezed and panted!
"Oh, do show us again, Dr. Booth," she pleaded. "There's a knack to it."
And he did show them again, not once—but twice. It was the fatal third time that Reba, who had succeeded thus far in keeping herself under control,
