The hot August days dragged on. Merciless sunlight beat in through the
slatted shutters of ward windows. At night, from the roof to which the
nurses retired after prayers for a breath of air, lower surrounding roofs
were seen to be covered with sleepers. Children dozed precariously on the
edge of eternity; men and women sprawled in the grotesque postures of
sleep.

There was a sort of feverish irritability in the air. Even the nurses,
stoically unmindful of bodily discomfort, spoke curtly or not at all. Miss
Dana, in Sidney's ward, went down with a low fever, and for a day or so
Sidney and Miss Grange got along as best they could. Sidney worked like
two or more, performed marvels of bed-making, learned to give alcohol baths
for fever with the maximum of result and the minimum of time, even made
rounds with a member of the staff and came through creditably.

Dr. Ed Wilson had sent a woman patient into the ward, and his visits were
the breath of life to the girl.

"How're they treating you?" he asked her, one day, abruptly.

"Very well."

"Look at me squarely. You're pretty and you're young. Some of them will
try to take it out of you. That's human nature. Has anyone tried it yet?"

Sidney looked distressed.

"Positively, no. It's been hot, and of course it's troublesome to tell me
everything. I--I think they're all very kind."