Yankee Surgeon by Elizabeth Gilzean Page A

surprisingly. Sally ’ s heart sank. A scolding ... what had she done wrong? “It ’ s a question of rubber boots ... wellingtons you call them. Dr. Stornoway, it seems, asked for size four ... in fact I was there when she asked you ... and she says she got sixes ... her feet were positively floating in them.”
    Sally stared at him in utter disbelief. “Is that all, sir?”
    Her amazement wavered before the expression on his face and then the absurdity of it struck them both and they dissolved into helpless laughter.
    It was several moments before the surgeon could recover a few shreds of dignity.
    “You dare to ask ‘ is that all? ’ in that cool English voice of yours when I ’ ve had thirty whole minutes of listening to Dr. Stornoway raving on about wellingtons and theater staff and... ” He stopped suddenly and ran his fingers through his fair hair.
    Sally felt once again the impulse to run her hand through his hair. “Could I explain, sir?”
    He grinned at her. “I think it could be allowed ... in the interests of British justice.”
    Sally felt her temper rising and then decided that he hadn ’ t intended to be mocking. It must be the American habit of poking fun at what they didn ’ t understand and she had better get used to it if she were going to nurse in the States...
    “It ’ s this way, sir. We have six house surgeons using the theater to say nothing of the various house physicians who come to watch when one of their patients is transferred from the medical side, and on top of that, whenever there is a really big case there will be visiting V.I.P. surgeons from all parts of the globe. We keep an assortment of sizes in wellingtons, most of them on the large side. Well, you can wear a pair that ’ s too large but not the other way round. Size four is a small size and the theater superintendent wears them but you don ’ t lend hers ... not even when she ’ s off duty. No doubt if Dr. Stornoway—”
    “—asks the theater superintendent nicely she can have a pair ... instead of taking it out on a poor staff nurse who hasn ’ t got the stores key or—”
    “—on a defenseless surgeon whose job it isn ’ t to provide wellingtons for house surgeons,” Sally ended on a chanting note.
    John B. Tremayne gave a tremendous sigh. “Whew! You ’ ve no idea how worried I was.”
    Sally stared at him. “You mean about ticking me off? I was the one who was shaking in my shoes.”
    “It ’ s different over here. Your surgeons are somebody. At home we ’ re just the dogsbody who is allowed in at the last moment to do the job. No, that ’ s not quite the truth. Once you ’ re hitting the tops you ’ re okay. It ’ s on the way up that you have to smear so much butter that it ’ s a wonder you don ’ t slip off the ladder. One cross word to the wrong one and you ’ re lucky if you get as much as a knife and fork to do your next case with.”
    Sally chuckled softly. “It ’ s not much different over here, but it ’ s much more subtle and you ’ re always given enough to do the job with.”
    He laughed. “You mean ... slow poison over the years ... just suggesting that old John B. Tremayne isn ’ t quite such a hot surgeon as he thinks he is?”
    “Something like that,” Sally admitted. “You never see it being done; you only hear about it ... sometimes.”
    John B. Tremayne was looking at her thoughtfully. “Do you often give surgeons a glimpse behind the scenes like this?”
    Sally felt a flash of momentary worry—she had been rather outspoken.
    “Not when they ’ re as senior as you,” she said frankly.
    “Then why have you, with me?”
    Sally glanced at him, but his expression was serious as if he really wanted to know.
    “Perhaps it ’ s because you ’ re more informal—” she began.
    “In what way?” he interrupted with a touch of sharpness in his tone.
    Sally became wary. “Well, in the first place, if a surgeon has a complaint, he makes it to the theater