“Oh, it’s only,” grinned the Senior Surgeon, dourly--“it’s only that every time I’m especially ugly to you, I see your lips moving as though in ‘silent prayer,’ as they call it; and I was just wondering if there was any special formula you used with me that kept you so everlastingly damned serene. Is there?” “Yes, sir,” said the White Linen Nurse. “What is it?” demanded the Senior Surgeon, quite bluntly. “Do I _have_ to tell?” gasped the White Linen Nurse. A little tremulously in her hand the empty cup she was carrying rattled against its saucer. “Do I _have_ to tell?” she repeated pleadingly. A delirious little thrill of power went fluttering through the Senior Surgeon’s heart. “Yes, you _have_ to tell me,” he announced quite seriously. In absolute submission to his demand, though with very palpable reluctance, the White Linen Nurse came forward to the table, put down the cup and saucer, and began to finger a trifle nervously at the cloth. “Oh, I’m sure I didn’t mean any harm, sir,” she stammered; “but all I say is,--honest and truly all I say is,--’Bah! he’s nothing but a man, nothing but a man, nothing but a man!’ over and over and over. Just that, sir.” Uproariously the Senior Surgeon pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet. “I guess, after all, I’ll have to let the little kid call you ‘Peach’ one day a week,” he acknowledged jocosely. With great seriousness then he tossed back his great, splendid head, shook himself free apparently from all unhappy memories, and started for his workroom, a great, gorgeously vital, extraordinarily talented, gray-haired boy, lusting joyously for his own work and play again after a month’s distressing illness. From the edge of the hall he turned round and made a really boyish grimace at her. “Now, if I only had the horns or the cloven hoof that you think I have,” he called, “what an easy time I’d make of it, raking over all the letters and ads. that are stacked up on my desk!” “Yes, sir,” said the White Linen Nurse. Only once did he come back into the kitchen or dining-room for anything. It was at seven o’clock, and the White Linen Nurse was still washing dishes. As radiant as a gray-haired god he towered up in the doorway. The boyish rejuvenation in him was even more startling than before. “I’m feeling so much like a fighting-cock this morning,” he said, “I think I’ll tackle that paper on--that I have to read at Baltimore next month.” A little startlingly the gray lines furrowed into his cheeks again. “For Heaven’s sake, see that I’m not disturbed by anything!” he admonished her warningly. It must have been almost eight o’clock when the ear-splitting scream from up-stairs sent the White Linen Nurse plunging out panic-stricken into the hall. “Oh, Peach! Peach!” yelled the Little Girl’s frenzied voice, “come quick and see what Fat Father’s doing _now_, out on the piazza!”