ON MONDAY, DECEMBER FIRST, THE ROSES WERE blooming, birds sang, and there was not a cloud in the sky—Panama City’s nor Cherry’s. She had been off duty since yesterday afternoon, and she was free until she started her new night duty at seven this evening. Cherry had spent the morning luxuriously asleep. After lunch, she had strolled down the famous promenade called Las Bovedas, which paralleled a crumbling granite wall along the sea.
Now, back in the main part of town, she passed the statue of Bolivar, the South American Lincoln. Under it lounged Bunce, dressed up in his best uniform, uncomfortable, hot, and grinning.
“I kind of figured you’d pass this way, Miss Cherry,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “Gosh, you walk slow … little ol’ chicken steps.”
Cherry squinted up in the sun at her lanky, long-legged corpsman. “Bunce Smith, don’t you know that an officer and an enlisted man aren’t supposed to have dates? You mustn’t be seen publicly with your boss.”
Bunce grinned amiably and stubbornly followed her into the main shopping street. He was up to something, Cherry realized, and said so.
“Who, me?” Bunce said with an injured expression. “Why, I’m just goin’ out to have a little fun. I might even do a good deed, or something brave, on my way. Uh … by the way,” Bunce stumbled a little, “where’re you going later? Going to that crazy house?”
“I won’t tell you! Why do you want to know, anyhow?” Cherry asked suspiciously.
Bunce smiled broadly. “So you are going there! No fooling, Miss Cherry, maybe it isn’t a safe place for you to go alone.”
Cherry laughed. “Don’t worry about Ames! Good-by till seven.” She marched into a department store.
Cherry dawdled pleasantly over perfume and lace and fans, which her soldier patients had requested her to buy for them. She suspected some of the gifts were for her, for the boys had specified “something a girl like you would like.” She paid for most of the things in United States currency, for some in silver balboas, and had her packages sent.
When she came out of the shops, the sun hung like a huge orange balloon over the low, flat, stone roofs. It had somehow got to be four o’clock. Cherry was very warm and thirsty. She found a sidewalk café, shaded by an awning and enclosed by pots of red geraniums. Gratefully she sat down and ordered a soda. It was a strange soda, lukewarm milk and syrup, and no ice cream at all. But if Cherry did not care much for her soda, there was someone who was staring at it with enormous, wistful brown eyes.
These fascinated eyes belonged to a nonchalant and jaunty urchin, aged about nine. Cherry stared at him; he stared at her soda. Only a pot of geraniums separated them; she took another sip, but those longing eyes would not let her drink. At last Cherry said:
“Would you like to have a soda, sonny?”
The little boy’s brown face broke into a radiant and ecstatic smile. He made a hasty bow and slid into the chair beside her astonishingly fast. “Señorita, you are mos’ kind an’ you make me mos’ happy an’ I weesh you sousands of sanks. I’ll like choc’lit.”
Cherry was not surprised to hear this urchin speak English. Many citizens of Panama City, living next door to its American twin city of Ancon, spoke both Spanish and English as a matter of course. But as the waiter departed for the soda, Cherry observed with amusement, “That’s a formal speech for a little boy.”
The urchin blinked his great eyes at her and dangled his legs from the chair. “I am of E-spanish, and I am courteous.” He was puzzled that Cherry should find his manner strange. He added politely, “The Señorita, she ees courteous also. She invite me to soda!” His eyes sparkled as the waiter set down a large glass in front of him. He pushed himself up on his chair, nestled his small head over the soda, and dreamily got to work on it. Cherry watched him, hugely entertained. Having noisily sucked up the last drops from the bottom of the glass, he wiped his mouth with a grimy little hand, and said:
“Now I do a favor. We are frands. W’at you like me to do?”
Cherry could not help laughing. The gallantry of this small tattered boy was out of all proportion to his size. “Thank you very much, you are most kind,” she struggled to match his manners, “but there is nothing—Yes, wait a minute. You can do me a favor.” She could do with some adventure after this month of hard work.
The little boy beamed. “Weeth great plasure.”
“Take me to the deserted house on the lane.”
The urchin’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, no, Señorita! I would not take any señoritas to soch bad place.”
“But if I ask you to?” Cherry persisted. “After all, we are friends.”
“Frands, yes, and I do not weesh my frands go there.” The child looked conscientiously at his empty soda glass, then back to Cherry. “Okay, I take you almost there.”
Cherry followed the little boy along narrow side streets, and then into unpaved, hilly, even more tortuous streets. It would be almost impossible for an automobile to get through here. Cherry asked questions, but the child disapprovingly refused to talk. He led her to the lane which she remembered.
“Adios, Señorita. Thees ees bad reward for soch good soda.” And then the child turned and ran for all he was worth.
She walked forward toward the house. It was a fantastic, ramshackle old house, overgrown with vines. Trees sighed against its faded walls. Mysterious houses fascinated Cherry. She picked her way through tangled weeds and flowers, passed a topless well, a sort of cistern, and came to broken steps. The door, unhinged, stood half open.
Cherry hesitated on the threshold. After the brilliant afternoon sun outdoors, she blinked in this musty darkness. Unable to see a thing, she stepped in. She stood there, listening. There was no sound except the creakings of an old house.
In a moment or two, her eyes became adjusted to the murky light. She was in a big square room, bare of furniture, its clay walls cracked and marked, its crude stone fireplace empty. Nothing to see in here, except some old crusts of bread and a pair of ragged shoes. She walked on to the next room. Here she found a broken chair and a great bundle of old rags heaped in the corner. Nothing here, either, apparently … then Cherry tensed. She distinctly heard footsteps beyond the doorway she had come through … not ten paces away from her!
They were slow, faint, unsteady steps. Cherry heard a long-drawn-out sigh, “Ay-y-y!” It was a man’s thin voice. A shadow fell across the room where she stood.
Cherry’s heart thumped in her throat. She could not take her eyes from that advancing shadow.
“Don’t come any nearer!” Cherry thought frantically. “Oh, stay where you are … whoever you are!” She looked about desperately for an exit. But the only door was the one through which the shadow fell. She stared about looking for a window to crawl through. There was no window. She was trapped in an inside room!
The voice whispered again, like ghostly fingers brushed over harp strings, “Who dares to enter the house of the dead?”
With lowered eyes, she watched the dreadful shadow move closer. She could not raise her eyes to face whatever might loom in the doorway. The figure stretched out commanding arms, distorted in shadow on the floor.
“Leave this house! Leave unless you too … ker … ker … choo!” There was a loud sneeze, followed by a twangy Middle West voice exclaiming, “Doggone it!”
Cherry darted to the door. There stood Bunce, flapping his arms.
“Bunce Smith, I ought to report you for playing such a joke on me!”
Bunce rocked with loud laughter. “Scared, weren’t you? Sissy! I only wanted to get you out of this dirty, deserted old house.”
“I’m no sissy! And I’m going to stay if I want to!” Cherry exploded. “Here I hope to have some fun exploring this place, and you … and you … sneeze!”
“You have to admit I’m a pretty good actor,” Bunce boasted.
Just then, they both heard a low cry.
“Was that you again?” Cherry demanded disgustedly.
“It certainly wasn’t me, ma’am!” Bunce’s clear blue eyes were mystified.
“It seemed to come from right in this room,” Cherry puzzled. She looked around the windowless room, empty except for the broken chair and the big heap of rags.
Then the rags stirred. Cherry and Bunce looked at each other anxiously. “A tramp, I guess,” Bunce reassured her.
But it was not a tramp. At least, not the sort of tramp they had ever seen before. As they stood watching, the top layer of rags went hurtling off, and a queer little man tried to sit up. He was small, with coppery skin, a rather flat, blunt face, and two black pigtails. He moved his hands helplessly and sank back into the pile of rags.
“He’s sick!” Cherry exclaimed.
She ran over to the man and looked into a pair of dull, beady black eyes, offset by broad cheekbones. Bunce was right behind her.
“He’s an Indian,” he muttered. He fingered a handloomed wool shawl of rainbow stripes which the man wore over his rusty black suit and purple shirt. Cherry studied the stolid, copper-colored face. She had seen Indians many times in Illinois when they came into Hilton on Saturdays to market, but they had been much taller and lighter-skinned than this little man. Suddenly it struck her, she was used to North American Indians, this man must be either a South or Central American Indian!
But his nationality did not concern Cherry now. What mattered was that he was a human being, sick and helpless. He was shivering, his teeth were chattering, his face was wan, and his fingers had gone colorless. These were the symptoms of tropical fever … first stage.
“What’s the matter with him?” Bunce asked fearfully.
“Don’t you remember,” she whispered, “what you read in Herold about malaria?”
Bunce swallowed. “Sort of similar, but this is a lot more severe! What kind of tropical fever is this?”
All the dread possibilities raced through Cherry’s mind … this could be malaria, or yellow fever, or one of the unknown, uncontrolled fevers! And then she thought of something even worse—malaria cases in the Army were isolated, kept under control, the source of infection was known and fought. But here was this fever-ridden man wandering about, without anybody’s knowing that the fever was abroad and unleashed without control. One sick person was enough to start an epidemic.
Frantic questions raced through Cherry’s mind. Where had he caught it? Where had he been? From the looks of his battered shoes and his pinched face, he had traveled a long way. How long had he been in this house? That swampy garden was full of mosquitoes; let many of them bite him, carry infected blood, and a swarm of disease-bearing mosquitoes could descend on the city like winged death. Cherry thought fearfully of that cistern; it would make a fine place for mosquitoes to lay their eggs.
Abruptly she got up and ran out of the house. Pushing aside the heavy undergrowth in the garden, she located the cistern, knelt, and looked down into the stagnant water. It was hard to see down there in the late daylight. Yes, there it was! A grayish film of larvae floated on the dirty-looking still water. Mosquitoes were breeding here! They might or might not be disease-carrying mosquitoes. She ran back into the house.
“It’s a breeding hole, out there,” she announced to Bunce. Bunce’s face grew worried as he began to realize the terrible implications of the man’s illness.
Cherry started to question the sick Indian. He listened to her questions, his coal black eyes watching her lips. The stolid expression on his face did not change. Apparently he understood no English.
She suddenly noticed the man wore a ring on one of his fingers. She bent closer, breathing a silent prayer that it might give her a clue as to who he was and where he came from. It was a heavy ring of beaten gold and silver on which was portrayed a sun atop a mountain, a palm tree, and an Indian in a canoe. She slipped the ring off his finger and held it up before the sick man’s eyes.
“Listen!” she said desperately. She pointed to his ring. “Where? Donde! Doctor! Americano!”
The Indian said something low-voiced in a strange tongue. “Must be Indian dialect,” Bunce muttered to Cherry, “doesn’t sound like any Spanish I ever learned.”
The Indian was fishing in his pocket. He produced a tattered snapshot and held it out to Cherry with trembling fingers. She and Bunce studied it. It showed a young man, an Indian, standing beside an American soldier, both smiling.
“His son?” Cherry guessed. “He’s on his way to find him?” Bunce shrugged and spoke to the Indian in halting Spanish. But the man did not understand Spanish, either. He was having such a severe chill that he was losing consciousness. Cherry looked at him in horror.
“So this is our ghost,” she said in a hushed voice to Bunce.
“Haunted house, huh?” Bunce muttered.
Cherry said, “Don’t you see? People think it’s haunted because they see or hear things going on in here. This house is used as a way station, as a place to sleep, by wandering Indians! Didn’t you see the food and the marks on the walls when you came in? It’s Indians, not ghosts!”
“This is worse than any ghost,” exclaimed Bunce worriedly, “this is death on the loose. Gosh! I do hope they’ll know what it is and have the right treatment for it!”
“The right treatment,” echoed Cherry. Dr. Joe and his new serum flashed into her mind.
Cherry was suddenly galvanized into action.
“Listen, Bunce! I have a plan. We’ve got to get him to the hospital, on the double. You stay here with him. Do your best to keep mosquitoes away from him. I’ll come back with an ambulance.”
Bunce gulped and agreed. Cherry snatched up her purse and hat, raced out of the house and sprinted down the lane. She remembered the way back to Ancon’s main throughfare. There she caught the Army hospital bus, and in twelve minutes time she was back in the hospital lobby. She rushed to the telephone operator’s room.
“Can you locate Dr. Upham for me?” Cherry asked her urgently.
The obliging operator tried all the wards. She tried the Operating Rooms, Major Fortune’s laboratory, a research room, Lex’s office. It was useless.
Cherry went back into the hall. At the end of the corridor, she saw a familiar little figure in nurse’s uniform approaching her.
“Hello, Cherry. What are you looking so upset about?” Rita asked.
“There isn’t time to explain now,” Cherry said as she started to hurry on.
Rita’s dark little face puckered up into a frown as she peered at Cherry’s smudged face and soiled seer-sucker dress. “You’d better get yourself cleaned up for the ward. We’re due to start our night duty at seven, remember, and that’s less than two hours off. And Vivian says Johnny Mae is in no mood to trifle with.”
“Thanks, Rita, but I’m in a big hurry now,” she flung over her shoulder as she rushed out of the main building. She knew now what she would have to do. She had no authority to act on her own. But which came first … this man’s life, and possibly many other lives, or discipline? But discipline was needed in order to safeguard lives, Cherry reminded herself. On the other hand, what about medical ethics? What about the dictum, “The patient must be saved at any cost”? The more reasons and arguments Cherry thought of, the more mixed up she became. Meanwhile, her feet were carrying her on, and her will was driving her forward to do what she most deeply knew was right. And she had not a minute to lose!
Cherry crossed the hospital yard to another wing. The sun was dropping and, though it was still daylight, the air had lost its warmth. She entered the Receiving Department and sought out Ann.
“Ann, could you help me get an ambulance?”
“Have you a doctor’s O.K.?”
“No.” Cherry added, “It’s urgent. Take my word for it.”
Ann’s calm dark blue eyes studied her. “Is the patient an American soldier?”
“No, but you know we often treat anybody at all who needs care. It’s awfully important that this patient be admitted.”
Ann looked down, thinking. “It’s awfully strange. I don’t—Urgent. Hm-m. Wait here. I’ll see what can be done.”
Cherry waited as Ann disappeared into a small office. She emerged soon, her face expressionless. She said to Cherry:
“I can’t take the responsibility of ordering an ambulance. But I put in a good word for you with the clerk. You’ll have to talk him into it yourself. And oh, golly, how I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for!”
“I know,” Cherry said grimly. “I also know I’m doing something necessary.” She marched in to talk to the clerk. She argued, pleaded, coaxed, explained. How she managed it, she did not know … probably by confusing the clerk so much he did not know exactly what to think … but Cherry succeeded.
“We’re short of ambulances,” the clerk told her, “we can’t send you one for half an hour.”
In that case, she had better not wait to drive over with the ambulance. She would go ahead and relieve Bunce, so that he at least, could get to the ward well before seven. Accordingly, she gave detailed directions to the clerk for the driver.
Walking shakily out of the clerk’s office, Cherry did not know whether she was glad or sorry that she had undertaken such an unauthorized responsibility. The minutes were spinning by faster and faster. She had to relieve Bunce quickly!
Cherry rode part way on the bus, ran the rest. She still had a chance of being on time herself if the ambulance arrived when promised. She fled up the lane.
The house, as she entered it, looked darker and more sinister than ever, now that twilight approached. She went through the door.
Bunce was still faithfully at the Indian’s side. He looked up in relief when Cherry squatted down beside him.
“He’s worse, I think,” the boy said worriedly. “He’s awfully hot, but his skin is dry as paper.” In the half-dark, the Indian’s face was flushed, his eyes were closed.
Second stage, clicked Cherry’s mind, recalling what she had read. This was some form of malaria, all right!
“Bunce,” she said in a strained voice, “you aren’t going to like what I’m going to say, but well, it’s an order. I want you to get back to the hospital and go on duty. You’ve done your part, and more than your part.”
“And leave you alone in this deserted house?” Bunce shook his shaggy head. “I should say not!”
Cherry was firm. “It’s an order. Please go. I have my reasons, Bunce.”
“You’ll come back with the ambulance?” Bunce asked anxiously as he stood up.
Cherry nodded. Bunce reluctantly left. She heard his footsteps in the next room, then on the steps. Presently they faded in the lane.
It was very dark and still in this inside room. The trees outside in the cool evening wind swayed and moaned. Cherry tried to settle the suffering man a little more comfortably on the pile of rags. She fanned him with her hat. “I hope,” she thought somberly, “that Dr. Joe’s new serum will cure this case.” Serum! The sentence she had read reappeared sharply before her eyes——
“Severe rare form of malaria called blackwater fever must be treated with serum.”
Cherry had a hunch that this was it … blackwater fever. Oh, if only that ambulance would hurry, hurry, hurry! A faint buzzing edged into her thoughts. Mosquitoes! Clearly, and distinctly she remembered reading these frightening words: “The fever mosquito, which spreads blackwater fever and yellow fever, is a night feeder and does not attack until sunset. It prefers light to dark races, and young people.”
Cherry shivered. If these winged hypodermics had bitten the sick Indian and become infected … if a fever-bearing mosquito bit her … The whining buzz sang in her ears. She flapped her hat about steadily. She was tired and frightened. Her duty was to her patient. Stay here she would, at all costs!
The room grew darker and darker, and still the ambulance did not come. She would never get to the ward on time. Cherry hardly could see the Indian’s face now. The buzzing grew louder, higher. She lost track of time, and in her fatigue and tension, still flapping her hat, relapsed into a sort of waking dream.
Noises outside roused her. She heard the throbbing of an engine, axles straining, and men’s shouts. The ambulance! At last! Cherry ran through the two dark rooms to the door.
“In here!” she called. “Bring lights and a stretcher!”
She saw in the fading light, two men jump down from the ambulance … one was a most welcome familiar figure … it was Lex! Oh, bless him! Ann must have told him about her request for an ambulance. She ran down the lane sobbing with relief, “Oh, Lex, oh, Lex, I’m so glad you’re here!”
The ambulance driver apologetically said, “We had a hard time getting this big car through the side streets. Hope your patient hasn’t suffered by the delay.”
Cherry smiled at him and said, “As long as you made it!” Then turning to Lex she rapidly explained the situation.
“And, Lex, it looks worse than malaria. I have a hunch it’s blackwater fever!”
Lex let out a low whistle and said, “Come on, Cherry, let’s have a look!” They went into the house and Lex bent over the sick man to examine him. When he straightened up, his face was very grave.
“Cherry, we’ve got a serious case on our hands. We’ll have to act fast. We’ve got to report this case to Colonel Wylie for orders.”
At the mention of Dr. Wylie’s name, Cherry’s face fell. “Oh, no, please, Lex, no! We can’t. Oh, Lex, this is Dr. Joe’s chance to use his new serum. Don’t you see that Colonel Wylie will send this case to the civilian hospital … and poor Dr. Joe will lose this wonderful opportunity to prove his new serum? Lex, please,” she pleaded, “can’t we take him back to the hospital and get Dr. Joe busy right away? Lex, do you remember our dictum: ‘The patient must be saved at any cost’?”
Lex yielded. “All right, Cherry, you win! We’ll think about charges for breaking the rules later.”
The strain was beginning to tell on Cherry. She felt sick. In a kind of miserable daze, she answered questions and filled out the ambulance report. At last they were off!
Back at the hospital, Cherry and Lex moved the patient into bed quickly … safely in quarantine. So far, so good. Then Cherry ran to the telephone and called Dr. Joe. Relief sounded in her voice when she heard Dr. Joe’s gentle hello coming over the wires. “Dr. Joe, this is Cherry. Listen carefully. I haven’t time to explain now, so don’t ask questions. Come right over to the hospital and bring your new malaria serum. We’ve discovered a case that may be blackwater fever. Yes, yes, we’ve got it right here in the hospital. I found the patient in a deserted house. No, no, we haven’t reported to Colonel Wylie. We’re doing this on our own. Please hurry. Lex will meet you in the lobby.”
As she turned from the phone, she saw Bunce Smith loping toward her with open relief written all over his face.
“Miss Cherry, did the ambulance come? Is everything okay? Did you get the case to the hospital? I shouldn’t have left you there in that house alone.”
Cherry started to reassure him when a cold voice broke in. It was Captain Endicott. He had heard everything. Cherry groaned.
Captain Endicott’s face was cold and forbidding as his eyes swept disdainfully over Cherry’s disheveled appearance.
“I see. Lieutenant Ames and Private Bunce Smith are at it again. Lieutenant Ames, what is this all about? … a case of blackwater fever here in the hospital, brought from a deserted house … haven’t reported it to Colonel Wylie … we’re doing this on our own. In case you are not aware of it, Lieutenant Ames, black-water fever is a job for the U.S. Public Health Service.” His eyes glittered with hatred. “I suppose they, too, weren’t informed. I shall report to Colonel Wylie at once.” Sarcastically he added, “That’s Army regulations, Lieutenant Ames!”
He wheeled about and strode purposefully off.
Cherry looked at her watch. “The time,” she groaned. “I should have been on duty an hour ago.” She hurried upstairs to Medical Ward, trembling at what she had done. It felt like a year, instead of a day, since she had hurried down these quiet, familiar, hospital corridors. She burst into the door of the ward to find Johnny Mae Cowan waiting for her. Rita, busy at the beds, looked up with a scared face.
“Lieutenant Ames, you are outrageously late!” the Chief Nurse declared. “You have been absent from the ward for an hour. Absence warrants dishonorable discharge!” She scowled at Cherry’s soiled dress and rumpled hair.
Cherry was ready to burst into tears. “But I can explain,” she pleaded.
“This is the Army! We want performance, not excuses! An order is an order!” Cherry knew it would be insubordination to argue with the Chief Nurse. An Army no was final. And she already had too many charges against her. She was busy at her duties when the Chief Nurse called her and told her ominously:
“Colonel Wylie wants you to report to his office at once.”
Cherry dragged herself downstairs really shaking with fear. This lateness—or the Chief Nurse might count it as an absence—alone could ruin her chances of promotion. “Promotion, indeed!” Cherry thought dejectedly. “When Colonel Wylie disciplines me as I deserve, I’ll be lucky if I’m not thrown out of the Army Nurse Corps!” She numbly entered Colonel Wylie’s office to face the anger and punishment she had brought down on her own head.
Captain Endicott and Major Fortune were both there, Dr. Joe and Colonel Wylie were in excited conversation. She blinked at them in the glare of the hanging light fixture. Colonel Wylie was coldly furious, threateningly still, as he looked up at Cherry. What could she possibly say to him? She had violated Army regulations.
“Lieutenant Ames,” Colonel Wylie bit out, “what is this blackwater fever situation? Have the goodness to explain in full detail.”
Cherry’s throat was dry and tight. She told Colonel Wylie exactly what had happened, and that all her thoughts had been for saving the sick man and giving Dr. Joe a chance to prove his new serum. “Please forgive me, Dr. Wylie, but …” Cherry stood there, her eyes stinging with tears. She simply could not bring herself to look at either Colonel Wylie or Major Fortune.
Colonel Wylie’s expression had not changed during Cherry’s recital. After a moment of dreadful silence, Colonel Wylie started to talk: “Lieutenant Ames, you have broken Army regulations. You realize the seriousness of that charge.” Just then Colonel Wylie’s technician-secretary entered the room to report the arrival of the men from the U.S. Public Health Service. Dr. Wylie had lost no time in reporting the case, Cherry thought.
Colonel Wylie asked to have them ushered in immediately. He gave the agents a rapid outline of the circumstances, then turning to Cherry he said, “This is Lieutenant Ames. She discovered the case. Perhaps you wish to question Lieutenant Ames?”
The agents asked the specific location of the house. Cherry told them and also reported the condition of the cistern.
The senior agent addressing Colonel Wylie said, “You know what this means, Colonel. We’ve got to inspect the house at once, get a full report on the immigrant Indian’s true condition, and if there is any doubt about what particular fever or variant he has contracted, the water supply will be turned off and all outgoing ships will have to be inspected. Glad you reported this at once. Now, sir, may we see the patient for examination and our report?”
Colonel Wylie summoned his secretary, who, upon being informed by Cherry where the patient was quarantined, led them off.
Captain Endicott stepped forward. His face was pale with rage, further angered because his carefully laid plans for loaded ships ready to sail would be upset. He burst out, “This isn’t the only outrageous thing Lieutenant Ames has done! It’s time that someone reported Lieutenant Ames. She is inefficient. When I was checking up on the wards the other day”—Cherry caught her breath—“Corpsman Smith failed to do his duty and both Ames and Upham failed in their supervisory duties either to correct or report him!”
Cherry looked back at him, horrified. Colonel Wylie sharply addressed Cherry, “Well, Lieutenant Ames, have you anything to say to this charge?”
“It is a distorted account of what actually happened,” she replied faintly.
“Certainly it is true!” Paul Endicott stated. “Lieutenant Ames is inefficient. I’ve witnessed her inefficiency. She——”
Major Fortune interrupted softly, “I think you have said enough for the moment, Captain Endicott.” Paul deferred to the older man with ill grace. Dr. Joe looked unhappily at Cherry.
“There is no question that you did wrong, Cherry. But I appreciate that you were trying to do the right thing, even trying to help me where my new serum is involved. I know you’ve done this for me as much as for the soldiers. And I appreciate your loyalty,” he encouraged her. She looked at her old friend with gratitude. “But Army discipline comes first. It must. And if it means that my serum isn’t going to get a chance, well, that’s part of the Army picture. You did break discipline, but it was with the best and most humane of motives.”
Paul Endicott broke in angrily, “You should also know, Colonel Wylie, that Private Bunce Smith is just as responsible and involved in this as Lieutenant Ames. He is just as unfit—–”
Colonel Wylie said suddenly, “That will do, Captain Endicott! Good evening, sir!”
Paul hesitated. Then he sullenly turned and stalked out of Colonel Wylie’s office.
Colonel Wylie turned toward Cherry. His hawk face, his steely eyes, were as stern as Justice itself as he pronounced judgment on her in a cold voice. “You were trying to do the right thing, Lieutenant Ames, your motives were admirable. But you broke the rules. That cannot be tolerated. You are in the Army and we are at war. You must be disciplined.”
There was silence. Cherry was thoroughly crushed by this time. Dr. Joe was such a pathetic figure as he looked at her with his warm gentle eyes full of sympathy that Cherry straightened up a little with the comforting thought: “I did do wrong, but at least Dr. Joe has a chance now to use his serum. Dr. Wylie has been so stubborn about it … he’d have sent the Indian to the civilian hospital … he’d never have brought the Indian here, where Dr. Joe can have his chance to prove his serum!”
She stood up a little straighter, bravely waiting for Colonel Wylie to name her punishment.
The surgeon was studying her, considering her case. His long pause made her nervous. Dr. Joe’s face was anxious, too. Finally Colonel Wylie said:
“From now on, Lieutenant Ames, you, and Corpsman Smith, also, are on probation. You no longer enjoy full standing in the Army Nurse Corps. If you wish to remain in the Corps, you will have to prove yourself.”
Cherry listened, too numb and stricken to move. Colonel Wylie opened the door. “You may go back to your ward now, Lieutenant Ames.”
Cherry crept out, no longer caring what happened to her.