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her accustomed standards. He was good, she had to admit, and while he took a little longer the extra care seemed justified each time.
    “Ready for the graft, Nurse?”
    The clipped voice broke into her thoughts, but she never faltered as she beckoned to Nurse Jones to put the patient ’ s right leg into position.
    “You do the graft, Dr. Brown, and Dr. Stornoway can give you a hand while I finish this part. Bone nibblers, Nurse, and then a narrow c hisel ... that ’ s it. Now you hold the sucker tip just so. Got some bone wax? Good girl! Say, Doc, what are you using for the dope at your end? We ’ ve got a lot of bleeding going on here.”
    Sally went tense again. This was always the trickiest part of the whole operation—to get the graft bed dry before putting in the slender bridge of bone that would strengthen the diseased spine and enable their patient to walk once more. This was the moment when a transfusion already set up could help so much.
    Dr. Ross had obviously been asked that same question many times. “Just the usual gas and oxygen plus the good old muscle relaxants,” he said patiently.
    He watched without comment their continued efforts to stop that welling pool and glanced at the clock. “Like me to start a blood drip going?” He made the suggestion casually as if it didn ’ t matter in the slightest whether he did it or not.
    “Why? Are you worried about the patient?” The American ’ s voice was sharp.
    “I ’ m not ... yet ... but we like to boast here at St. Bride ’ s that our patients leave the operating theater in even better condition than when they came through those doors, and—it won ’ t cost them or you a single red cent.”
    It was so quietly done that Sally held her breath. But their American surgeon surprised them all by laughing and the whole theater relaxed visibly.
    “Say, that was smart of you. I keep forgetting that everything over here is on the house. Sure, give him some of the good old red stuff and then we ’ ll all be happy. I guess Nurse has got the necessary for you tucked up her sleeve.”
    Sally couldn ’ t bring herself to meet his eyes, because at that moment the junior came through the far door carrying very carefully the precious bottle from the fridge.
    He chuckled again. “See what I mean?”
    The rest of the list went smoothly and Sally could sense the tempo of the theater running down as they reached the final case. George had gone back to Casualty to deal with what the night might have brought him. It wasn ’ t really his evening on call, but with his usual good-heartedness he was standing in for someone else until midnight. Out of the corner of her eye Sally saw that the nurse from Mary Ward had taken over from her junior who was standing by the door waiting to be dismissed. The clock hands pointed mutely to eleven-thirty and Sally felt guilty.
    “Off you go, Nurse, and thank you for your help,” Sally said softly.
    Nurse Jones should be off too, but she was tucked away in the “dirty” room scrubbing instruments to put into the waiting sterilizer and couldn ’ t be reached for the moment.
    John B. Tremayne ’ s hands smoothed the last plaster bandage into place with a final pat. “That ’ s it, Nurse.” He straightened his back wearily. “I guess I got up too early this morning. Got anything nice to drink in that fridge of yours?”
    Sally ’ s lips twitched behind her mask. “I suppose you mean a coke, sir?”
    “I suppose I did. I guess I ’ m a bit behind in my Hollywood movies. What do the best British surgeons have after their sessions?”
    “Coffee, sir.”
    He pulled off his cap and mask and tossed them toward a bucket. “You mean what you call coffee.” He made a face. “If I have mine black I might stay awake and I couldn ’ t bear that right now. And if I have it with some of your fancy hot milk I couldn ’ t bear that either. Got any plain milk that ’ s ice-cold?”
    Sally gave a mock shiver. “Your poor ulcers!