Cherry Ames 09 Cruise Nurse (9 page)

The word temperature decided Mrs. Crane. That was one thing she wasn’t even going to attempt to cope with. She looked rather worn and harried after a long afternoon with a fretful little boy, and gratefully thanked Cherry for relieving her.

SCUTTLEBUTT

75

Cherry noticed with amusement that in spite of her exhaustion, pretty Mrs. Crane took the time to shower and change into a lovely, clinging evening gown of pale sea-green chiffon. When she was ready to go she leaned over the bed to kiss Timmy good-bye. But he pushed her away crossly:

“I don’t like all that red stuff on your mouth. It gets all over me and my pajamas and the sheets. Then somebody might think I was a sissy.”

Cherry quickly took in the fact that Timmy felt nowhere near as well as he had earlier. She laid her hand on his forehead and took his pulse. Yes, his temperature had undoubtedly gone up, but that was to be expected at this time of the evening. She called after Mrs. Crane:

“About what was his fl uid intake? Did you manage to get a pint into him?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Mrs. Crane admitted. “He wouldn’t take a thing after that one glass of pineapple juice. And he blew most of that all over the bed. I had to get a maid to change the sheets. They were soaked.”

“Oh, dear,” Cherry moaned inwardly. “Not enough fl uid, and to make matters worse, Timmy probably was allowed out of bed while it was being changed.” Timmy, reading the despair on Cherry’s face and correctly guessing the reason for it, began to sob. “Now, don’t you scold me. I feel awful sick. I hurt all over.” He fl ipped around like a fi sh to bury his face in the pillows. “I want my Nanny,” he kept wailing. “She
never
scolds me. Don’t you try to make me drink water. I
hate
76
CHERRY

AMES,

CRUISE

NURSE

water. When I
have
to have it, Nanny feeds it to me with a spoon and tells me stories all the time.” Cherry tried to comfort him, deciding that she would not wait until eight to take his temperature. She would take it just as soon as he quieted down.

“Don’t cry, Timmy,” she said soothingly. “I’ll feed you water with a spoon and tell you stories too.” Immediately, he fl ipped back to grin up at her.

“Okey-dokey. Go get the nasty old water and a spoon.

But your stories better be good or I won’t swallow a drop.”

Rain was splattering against the windows that opened out on the deck. Cherry hoped that Timmy wasn’t going to be seasick along with his cold. The deck heaved beneath her feet and she almost spilled the water she brought from the bathroom. But Timmy didn’t seem to mind the
Julita’s
jerky progress at all.

Cherry told him stories until she was almost as hoarse as he was, but in the end she managed to spoon four ounces of water into him and six ounces of prune juice.

When she fi nally took his temperature she found it had risen to 103°. She must consult Dr. Monroe at once. He would probably want to start Timmy on sulfa at eight instead of the aspirin. It was almost eight now, and she was due in sick bay for Bill’s regular check.

When would Mrs. Crane come back?

In desperation she rang the steward’s bell. “I hope it doesn’t bring Waidler,” she mumbled. But it did.

SCUTTLEBUTT

77

“Well?” he scowled from the doorway. “What does your highness want now?”

Cherry blinked back tears of exhaustion and anxiety.

“Please, Waidler,” she begged, “will you go and get Mrs.

Crane? I imagine she’s still at dinner. I have to go down to sick bay for a few minutes.”

“What’s stopping you?” he demanded sourly. “Don’t tell me this little bit of motion has thrown you off your feet. Wait until tonight. If you can’t walk now you’ll be a big help when the passengers start sending for you.”

Cherry sucked in a deep breath. “It’s not the rough seas,” she said quietly. “I can’t leave this little boy alone.

He’s running quite a bit of temperature. Please, get his mother.”

Waidler merely glared at her. And then, miracu-lously, Timmy came to the rescue. “Tell me a story, please, Mr. Waidler,” he said. “Tell me a story about pirates.”

Cherry felt sorry for innocent little Timmy who took it for granted that everyone was his friend. “That old sea dog, Waidler, probably
does
know some swell yarns,” she thought. “But he wouldn’t waste a minute of his precious time amusing a sick little boy.”

“Oh, all right, all
right,”
Waidler was mumbling gruffl y. “Go long, Nurse. But don’t get it into your head that sitting with your patients is one of my duties. If the Captain ever heard about this—” He shook his head darkly. “No good will come of it. Mark my words!” 78
CHERRY

AMES,

CRUISE

NURSE

But Timmy merely wriggled ecstatically, and patted a spot beside him on the bed. “Sit down here, Mr. Waidler. I
have
to know all about pirates.” Cherry fl ed, thinking, “If anyone can get under Waidler’s barnacled shell it will be Timmy. No one could resist that lovable little imp!”

c h a p t e r v i i

A Stormy Night

when cherry breathlessly arrived in sick bay, Dr. Monroe was ahead of her, taking Bill’s T.P.R.

“Oh, dear,” she sighed inwardly. “Now I’m in for it.

And the very fi rst night at sea!”

But Dr. Kirk Monroe only looked up and smiled.

“You needn’t have come down, Miss Ames. I saw Mrs.

Crane dancing in the club and guessed you were tied up with Timmy.” His stethoscope was dangling from his neck, and his fi ngers, which had been on Bill’s pulse, looked cool and capable. He said reassuringly, “This patient is doing fi ne. But I’m going to have Rick sleep in the upper bunk tonight. How’s our other patient?” Cherry, still a little fl ustered from hurrying, said,

“His temperature is up two degrees, Doctor. And Tim aches all over. Looks like incipient infl uenza to me.” Rick came into sick bay then, and Dr. Monroe left with Cherry shortly afterward. On the way up to 79

80
CHERRY

AMES,

CRUISE

NURSE

B deck Cherry thought he might mention the mystery of the purser’s safe, but he didn’t.

As they entered the Crane suite Waidler was obviously in the middle of an exciting tale of adventure on the high seas.

“Go ’way, you two,” Timmy yelled petulantly. “Waidy’s telling me about Henry Morgan who was the most fro-shus pirate of ’em all.”

So it was “Waidy” now! Cherry could hardly suppress a chuckle. The steward’s face turned crimson as he stumbled to his feet.

Dr. Monroe said easily, “Thank you, Waidler. It was very co-operative of you to help us out.” To Timmy, he said: “I have a book in my cabin. It’s full of pirate stories and I think you’ll like the pictures. Perhaps Miss Ames will read to you while you’re being steamed.”

“Who’s Miss
Sames?”
Timmy demanded.

The young ship’s doctor looked puzzled. Then he laughed. “Oh, I meant to say
Cherry
would read it.” Timmy sank back against the pillows in relief. “That’s dif-frunt. She’s okay, but her stories aren’t very ’citing.

Not like
his.”
He pointed a fat fi nger at Waidler who was trying to creep unobtrusively away. “When
he
was a little boy he was captured by pirates. But he got away

’cause he chopped off their heads one by one with a great big ’normous knife.”

The steward disappeared so quickly it seemed as though he must have melted through the door. Cherry let the laughter bubble up to her lips.

A STORMY NIGHT

81

Dr. Kirk Monroe laughed too. “That Waidler!” he said in an aside to Cherry. “He’s a character. He’s got a terrifi c bark but no bite at all. At the beginning of every cruise we’re swamped with complaints from the passengers about his attitude. And in the end they all fraternize with him outrageously.”

“Why does he pose as such a disagreeable person?” Cherry asked curiously.

“I couldn’t tell you. That’s a problem for psychiatry.” Dr. Monroe smiled. He listened to Timmy’s chest, thumped his back, and then sat back and stared at him for a long minute. More to himself than to Cherry he said: “For the present, we’ll keep him on the same routine. After his inhalation we’ll give him fi ve grains of aspirin and a teaspoon of elixir of Luminal. That should keep him quiet throughout the night.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Cherry said. “About his diet. Apparently he’s had nothing since breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Timmy howled. “I
won’t
eat!” Dr. Monroe said gently, “And you don’t have to, Tim.

Not if you drink a big chocolate milk shake.” To Cherry, he added quietly: “Put a raw egg in it.” And then he was gone. Everything went smoothly, and Timmy was tucked in bed, drowsy-eyed, when his mother came back. Mrs. Crane’s eyes were sparkling.

She had, obviously, had a good time.

Cherry said that Tim very probably would sleep until morning, but that Mrs. Crane should not hesitate to call the doctor if he seemed worse.

82
CHERRY

AMES,

CRUISE

NURSE

“I do hope I won’t get seasick,” Mrs. Crane said worriedly. “One of the women at our table in the club left rather hurriedly a few minutes ago. I imagine you’ve got another patient.”

Mrs. Crane was right. Out in the corridor the loud-speaker was calling:

“Nurse Ames. Nurse Ames. Report to Dr. Monroe in Stateroom 17. Stateroom 17. Nurse Ames.” Stateroom 17. That must be on A deck. Cherry hurried up the stairs.

From then on it was a nightmare. Cherry was called to one suite after another all night long. Fretful, frightened people. Pampered women who refused to listen to reason. Some of them, convinced that the ship was going to roll and pitch for the entire twelve days, insisted upon being taken off at once. Others, giving way to the nausea, had to be coaxed for long minutes into chewing the little candy-coated pieces of gum.

Cherry was so busy she hardly noticed the heaving decks and the thudding splash of rain against the win-dowpanes. But at last it was morning, a heaven-sent, sunny dawn. Cherry thought she had never appreci-ated balmy weather so much before in all her life.

Then the “convalescents” had to be wheedled into sipping hot tea and munching thin pieces of hard toast or crackers. Cherry explained over and over again:

“You’re very dehydrated. You must take a little fl uid every fi fteen or twenty minutes. This nice dry toast will help settle your stomach. Really, it will. Please try.”

A STORMY NIGHT

83

At seven, Dr. Monroe ordered her to breakfast. “It’s all over now,” he said. Cherry noticed the deep circles under his eyes and wondered if she looked as drawn and tired. Apparently she did, for he said sternly:

“Have a big, hot, leisurely breakfast. The stewards and stewardesses will take over from here on in. After you have charted our two real patients’ T.P.R., you are to take a nap. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Cherry smiled wanly. Dazed with exhaustion and lack of sleep, she somehow managed to get down creamy oatmeal, drenched in brown sugar and thick cream. Then the waitress brought fl uffy scrambled eggs and a cup of cocoa. Cherry propped her eyes open and fi nished everything. She knew nour-ishment meant renewed strength. You could never tell what the day might bring forth.

Bill, fortunately, as he said himself, was as good as new except for the use of his right arm. But Timmy’s condition was unchanged. Cherry had expected—

hoped that his early morning temperature would be near normal. She was sleepily scribbling notes which she would later enter in the sick bay log, when Dr. Monroe came in.

“That settles it,” he said, when Cherry handed him her pad. “We have a new sulfa compound which I’ll have sent in to you at once. First dose, four tablets; sub-sequent doses, two every four hours. Day and night.” Mrs. Crane, still surprised that she had managed to sleep through the stormy night, hovered closer. “Oh, doctor, what is it? Not pneu-pneumonia?” 84
CHERRY

AMES,

CRUISE

NURSE

Dr. Monroe immediately assured her, “Nothing of the kind. It’s a simple case of laryngitis with some in-fl ammation of the trachea.” He hurried away.

Tim’s mother looked more horrifi ed than ever. Cherry explained quietly, “In other words, Mrs. Crane, just plain croup. Doctor is putting Timmy on sulfa merely as a precaution against a further rise in temperature. He may respond to the fi rst dose and run no more fever.” Mrs. Crane said, relieved, “Oh, croup. Timmy has had croup on and off since he was born. Nanny says the pediatrician told her he was just one of those children who are extremely susceptible to croup.” She blew an airy little kiss to Timmy and went off to breakfast.

Cherry couldn’t help thinking: “So the pediatrician told
Nanny
that! Where was Timmy’s mother at the time?” She shook her head. “Probably out dancing somewhere. Poor little Tim! If ever a boy needed a real mother, this one does. Lots of his crankiness is due to the fact that he feels insecure. He demands attention as a compensation. He’s not really spoiled—he’s just starving for mother love.”

And yet, Mrs. Crane was a nice woman. And she
was
fond of Timmy. Why couldn’t she see that he had outgrown a nanny and needed
her?

Ziggy himself brought the sulfa tablets from the dispensary. He said with a grin, “Waidler has got the refrigerator in my offi ce bulging with provisions. I signed a requisition a mile long. You should see your own desk. There are neat little stacks of bouillon cubes,

A STORMY NIGHT

85

tea bags, and heaven knows what all, reaching right up to the overhead.”

So Waidler was over his grouch. Maybe he was like those people who were always grouchy in the morning.

Maybe Waidler felt about the fi rst day at sea as they did about the fi rst few minutes before breakfast.

Ziggy pointed to Cherry’s rumpled uniform. “I’d say you’d slept in your clothes except that I know better.