At the very first sound of the White Linen Nurse’s step the Senior Surgeon turned and faced her with a sheepish sort of defiance.

“Well, now, I imagine,” he said, “well, now, I imagine I’ve really made you—­mad!”

“No, not mad, sir,” faltered the White Linen Nurse.  “No, not mad, sir,—­but very far from well.”  Coaxingly with a perfectly futile hand she tried to lure one astonished yellow songster back from a swaying yellow bush.  “Why, they’ll die, sir!” she protested.  “Savage cats will get them!”

“It’s a choice of their lives—­or mine!” said the Senior Surgeon tersely.

“Yes, sir,” droned the White Linen Nurse.

Quite snappishly the Senior Surgeon turned upon her.  “For Heaven’s sake—­do you think—­canary birds are more valuable than I am?” he demanded stentoriously.

Most disconcertingly before his glowering eyes a great, sad, round tear rolled suddenly down the White Linen Nurse’s flushed cheek.

“N—­o,—­not more valuable,” conceded the White Linen Nurse.  “But more—­c-cunning.”

Up to the roots of the Senior Surgeon’s hair a flush of real contrition spread hotly.

“Why—­Rae!” he stammered.  “Why, what a beast I am!  Why—!  Why!” In sincere perplexity he began to rack his brains for some adequate excuse,—­some adequate explanation.  “Why, I’m sure I didn’t mean to make you feel badly,” he persisted.  “Only I’ve lived alone so long that I suppose I’ve just naturally drifted into the way of having a thing if I wanted it and—­throwing it away if I didn’t!  And canary birds, now?  Well—­really—­” he began to glower all over again.  “Oh, thunder!” he finished abruptly, “I guess I’ll go on down to the hospital where I belong!”

A little wistfully the White Linen Nurse stepped forward.  “The hospital?” she said.  “Oh,—­the hospital?  Do you think that perhaps you could come home a little bit earlier than usual—­to-night—­and—­and help me catch—­just one of the canaries?”

“What?” gasped the Senior Surgeon.  Incredulously with a very inky finger he pointed at his own breast.  “What?  I?” he demanded.  “I?  Come home—­early—­from the hospital to help—­you—­catch a canary?”

Disgustedly without further comment he turned and stalked back again into the house.

The disgust was still in his walk as he left the house an hour later.  Watching his exit down the long gravel path the Little Crippled Girl commented audibly on the matter.

“Peach!  Peach!” called the Little Crippled Girl.  “What makes Fat Father walk so—­surprised?”

People at the hospital also commented upon him.

“Gee!” giggled the new nurses.  “We bet he ’s a Tartar!  But isn’t his hair cute?  And say—­” gossiped the new nurses, “is it really true that that Malgregor girl was pinned down perfectly helpless under the car and he wouldn’t let her out till she’d promised to marry him?  Isn’t it awful? Isn’t it romantic?”