Jerkily the White Linen Nurse swerved off through the French door that opened directly on the piazza. Had the Senior Surgeon hanged himself, she tortured, in some wild, temporary aberration of the “morning after”? But stanchly and reassuringly from the farther end of the piazza the Senior Surgeon’s broad back belied her horrid terror. Quite prosily and in apparently perfect health he was standing close to the railing of the piazza. On a table directly beside him rested four empty bird-cages. Just at that particular moment he was inordinately busy releasing the last canary from the fifth cage. Both hands were smouched with ink, and behind his left ear a fountain-pen dallied daringly. 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-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, hell!” 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.