"And," continued the very observant attendant of the sick, "I should think that they would have to be very strong and healthy, perfectly nerveless, and," she smiled, "not a bit fastidious to ride a motorcycle." Virginia's face bore a look of mild reproof which melted away as she joined in the hearty laugh of the nurse. "I am going up stairs," resumed that energetic person cheerfully, "and see your motorcyclist. In a minute, I will be back able to assure you that he is not seriously injured." As the girl waited, the quiet of the great building depressed her. To her came the thought that it was a place of weariness, pain, suffering. The hall before her was the highway along which men and women passed on their way to those white bed battle-grounds beyond. Through hours, and days of weariness and suffering the combat dragged its weary length or moved in strenuous actions, short and sharp, towards victory, with the joyous return of the pale and weakened warrior to loved ones, home, friends, and all that makes life worth living, or else-- A door opened above stairs. Something very like a smothered laugh echoed and the soft pad of rubber soles came on the steps. "He's all right," the nurse reassured Virginia, as she reentered the room. "He's perfectly conscious and the doctor says that he sees no reason why he should not get along nicely." Her manner became very professional as she went on, "Your motorcyclist has a fractured leg, three fractured ribs, and many bruises." She shrugged her shoulders deprecatingly, "That's nothing." "Nothing! I think that it is dreadful." Virginia displayed indications of renewed agitation. The nurse made haste to comfort her, "Remember, I have seen him. That young man may be brittle but he'll mend fast." "He will suffer so," worried Virginia. "No, not after his leg is set. Of course he will be in some pain for a few days but that will soon pass." The nurse giggled. "Right now he has a bad headache from striking either your car or the street with his head. It must be made of extraordinarily strong material." Virginia gave no heed to the concluding sentence. A look of alarm spread over her face. "He struck the car an awful blow. It fairly lifted it. Was that his head?" she gasped. "Possibly," admitted the dancing eyed nurse. "His headache is severe. But he'll be over that in the morning." Another matter of anxiety recurred to the girl. "How's his fever?" she troubled, her eyes big with pity. "Fever!" Surprise claimed the nurse as its own. "Now what ever put that into your head?" "I held his hand when we brought him here. It was very hot." "Oh, I see," admitted the nurse with a solemnity of tone which belied her tell-tale orbs. "What a little helper you _were_. You held the patient's hand, and, discovering it to be warm, you believed him dead." "Wasn't it strange?" Virginia gravely pursued her own line of thought. "It seemed to me that he wanted me to hold his hand, so I did."