The emergency call had come at dawn, and the sheriff would be here in ten more minutes.

When Kay came out of her patient's room she saw the knot of people clustered at the far end of the hospital corridor, just to the right of the nurses' charge desk.

She got out of the cab a good block away from Weeks Memorial Hospital, hoping to duck around the cordon of reporters and not be noticed.

The redhead had undressed.

The night nurses were going on duty in David Grant's Hospital.

The afternoon had become hot when she at last arrived in the village of Caballo.

The afternoon had become hot when she at last arrived in the village of Caballo.

Natlie had her ear to the keyhole, straining to hear every word that was being said in the next room.

An infatuation.

The fourth day of November, Kelly O'Brien was scheduled for surgery at 8:00 A.M.

Geraldine Parks opened the door to the small ward at the rear of the infirmary, and peeked quietly inside.

"Ah, Dr. Tarleton--do come in."

It was a foggy morning in November--a Monday morning at that--and Maura O'Shea, picking her way along Game Street, en route for St. Matthew's Hospital, felt thoroughly irritable and depressed.

Rowanstock Hospital lay in the middle of the smoky town.

Thalia Ward was rousing itself out of its torpor.

Sister Tutor faced her new bunch of recruits with misgivings.

Sidewalks.

"Here we are, Signorina, this is the ospedale."

Tracy Crandall placed her skis carefully parallel in the tracks beside the chair lift.

Alice Smith--a plain name for a vibrant girl--was sitting in an overstuffed chair in a club in midtown Manhattan.

Hillsdale was exactly the kind of town Nancy had hoped it would be.

Spring clouds, drifting over the roofs of Sula, half-obscured the sprawling gray-brick building that was Morningwood Clinic, looming high among firs on a hill above the city.

By the time Carolyn Wright had changed into her uniform, only ten minutes remained before the start of her regular four-to-midnight stint as general duty nurse at Netherlands Memorial Hospital.

Judy Grayson, R.N., hurried along the winding path of concrete that led to the prison.

Lieutenant Constance Moorehead, United States Army Nurse Corps, removed the thermometer from the mouth of the flushed young corporal and moved closer to the night light to read it.

The mirror was wide and high, reflecting the beauty of the room: paneled walls, rich drapes framing a window that framed purple hills topped by snow-capped mountains.

"There is one field cybernetics won't control: the nursing profession!"

The wide living room window of Rietta's apartment gave an encompassing view of Thorton Hospital: first a low park, then a parking area, and then the north side of the block-wide building.

Marjory Mallon pulled her small car into the parking block across from General Hospital.

"There is one field cybernetics won't control: the nursing profession!"

It was the quiet hour at Dane Memorial Hospital.

It was the quiet hour at Dane Memorial Hospital.

It was quite the best room in Shoreline Hospital, with a southwestern view of the Pacific, if and when the patient was ready for views.

The room was bright with lamplight, gay with orange curtains, and pleasantly fragrant with the smell of bath powder.

Brewster, the dormitory for probationers and junior nurses, stands on the outer fringe of the acres of hospital buildings, and that afternoon in September it was still with the stillness of an oven.

The train began to move at last.

Not many of the houses looked prosperous, and most of them were grimy; yet the street had charm, for traces of another era lingered in the crookedness of windows and doors, in the casual little yards, in old-fashioned wooden porches elaborate with scrollwork.

"Oh, darn!"

The 9th floor which housed the obstetrical and gynecology division at St. Joseph's General Hospital, was a whirl of routine activity when Veronica Leighton, coming from nurses' quarters, stepped out of the elevator.

Kathy tried shutting her eyes, but they refused to stay shut.

Hal Gardiner looked up from his examination of the new patient, and sighed as the sound of a powerful contralto rang through the ward.

The feed pipe to the autoclave rattled and hammered as the morning's steam traveled through it.

Alone, without ostentation, looking pale and oddly on edge to Coral Drake, the living legend named Nicholas Charles Meers came along the path between the Irish yew trees and sat on the stipulated bench.

The fireman said that things would be okay if he could just keep the use of his right arm.

Anne Osgood went down to the hard-packed sand and tested the ocean's temperature by letting a curl of surf bubble around her feet and ankles.

I got my first look at Lodora Island the day my old outfit went ashore ten thousand miles away at Omaha Beach.

For Merle Asquith, R.N., the dark Saturday in February on Ward 100, Emergency Admitting at City General, ended at 5:30 P.M.

Ivy Anders scurried up the long floodlit ramp at the front of St. Vibiana's Hospital.

Kathy Hilton tried desperately to adjust her hat to a more dignified angle without attracting attention, as she stood before the desk of the head nurse at San Nicholas Naval Hospital.

The telephone rang, its muted signal almost lost in the thick, deep-blue pile of the reception room carpeting.

The moment Lora Wincot opened her eyes she knew it was to be a special day.

The patient was an old man.

Erda Sanders, R.N., got off the First Avenue bus on the north side of Eighty-Sixth Street and started to walk east.

Merilee Maxwell, R.N. at the Fairlane Community Hospital in the small town of Crystal Springs in upstate New York, had just come out of room 35A, where she had given a woman patient her lunch tray, when the voice of the nurse at the front desk came over the loudspeaker, saying, "Miss Merilee Maxwell, please go to Emergency."

"Not bad for a couple of city slickers, eh?"

"Of course, Art and I could start looking for another apartment," Kathy Devlin offered hesitantly.

Beth Lloyd watched the two surgeons push their way through the operating room's swinging doors.

Rita Ambler dropped the nurse's uniform she had worn since seven that morning into the clothes hamper on the service porch.

Eugene Kalb stabbed at the fillet before him and attacked it with a steak knife.

Kim Sargent looked over her shoulder to inspect the seams of her nylons.

It was inevitable that sooner or later the tears would come.

Around the wards at Tri-City Hospital, Lillian Bryant reflected, the R.N. with whom she shared this apartment was so mousy and nondescript that she almost blended into the ecru-painted walls.

Since the plane had roared off the runway in Chicago, Peggy Mitchell had managed to give her seatmate an exhaustive biography of herself.

Her eyes opening reluctantly, Jenny Cole reached for the alarm clock on the lamp table beside her bed.

For the first second or two after she had glimpsed the familiar face that haunted her daydreams, Jeanette Dawson thought she must be mistaken.

During the three months that I had been Durwood Kingsley's private nurse, we had argued almost incessantly.

Kathy Barrett shifted in her bedside chair, checked her watch, and made a mental note never to envy private duty nurses again.

"Oh, Barfield's changed, all right," Ellen Whitaker's mother agreed.

Elaine Forrester pulled the lapels of her dark green wool coat closer together.

Nurse Donna Walton stood near the foot of the hospital bed while old Dr. Kirsch signed the death certificate.

Kitty Simmons settled back in one of the old wicker chairs dotting Doc Osgood's reception room, a nostalgic smile crossing her face as she surveyed the familiar, shabby surroundings.

"What an inspired idea," Dr. Brent Driscoll said.

It's all different this morning, Audrey West thought, though it shouldn't be.

Resident doctor Rex MacMillan drew his lean frame out of the overstuffed chair, crossed the pleasantly furnished recreation room of the student nurses' residence hall, and clicked off the television set.

"What I had in mind," Lana Stafford told her friend behind the desk at Carson's Nurses' Registry, "was one of those dream jobs you read about in romance novels."

This was not going to be a memorable evening, Eleanor Hill decided.

"Could you just once," Gloria said, "could you, just for a change, stop quibbling before Jerry gets here?"

Terry Crane turned her patient's wheelchair so that light from the broad window wall fell over the small stack of letters she had just handed to Richard Olner.

Lon was standing next to the main floor reception desk, his back turned to Marguerite Lowell as she approached.

"If I were you, Ruth," Dr. Milton said.

A stranger going past the high wrought-iron gates and following the semicircular gravel walk to the main building could have mistaken Barranger Hall for an exclusive boarding school or resort.

Clutching her newly earned cap and diploma in one hand, exuberantly conscious of the "R.N." symbol that had been pinned to her graduation gown, Doris Tracy edged her way through the crowded auditorium with Nancy Jorgensen puffing behind her.

Karen Reese turned the Chevy into one of the eight covered areas and braked it to a stop.

Donna Marker smiled as the last of the day's appointments, a frail Mrs. Rafferty with a gratifyingly healthy baby boy in her arms, started out the door.

Outside the Community Day Clinic, melting snow had turned to a gray, dirty slush, the only indication that spring was coming to this dismal sector of Chicago's North Side.

A crowd was still milling around the high school auditorium lobby as Laurie Davis's date guided her toward the exit doors.

Nurse Terry Allen waved once more at the man pushing the wheelchair and the attractive teen-aged girl who rode in it.

"If you want to keep friends," Aunt Cammie said, probably for the thousandth time that Janet Leland could remember, "keep your advice to yourself."

It was unreasonably hot for early June, and Liza Hale sent her little car flying along--or as near to flying as the law permitted.

Kate Saunders, registered nurse, stood looking down at the crowd behind the barrier as the cruise ship Florian pulled into the pier in New York on a gusty spring morning.

"Hi--Beautiful!"

Sharon Stone walked across the lobby of the residential hotel where J. Morton Bishop, known as the Hardware King, lived in the duplex penthouse; she wished she could stop the fluttering inside her midriff.

"The next bus for Guale Farms?" repeated the woman behind the lunch counter in the small, dingy bus station.

Hollace Lowman stood on the wide verandah, looking out over the sweep of lawn.

"The next bus for Guale Farms?" repeated the woman behind the lunch counter in the small, dingy bus station.

Susan Merrill crept past the house mother's door, her slippers in her hand, her breath suspended in her throat.

It was a pleasant August evening.

Nurse Joan Fraser had not been in the private office of the medical superintendent before.

Ann Haley hadn't become a nurse because she was looking for a glamorous profession.

Situated on the West Side of New York City just a block from Central Park, Dodge Memorial Hospital towers over drab tenements and the penthouses of the wealthy.

Freda Morel stood silently beside Dr. Peter Webb in the head office of the Glenville Memorial Hospital.

Nurse in Danger
The big clock on the wall of the main operating room of St. Paul's Hospital showed nine twenty-seven as Dr. Gregory Martin, senior surgeon, entered in cap, mask, and gown.
Department Store Nurse
Nurse Joan Fraser never ceased to be thrilled by her job as an emergency nurse at Semmons Department Store.

The small, white-walled office was as formal and cold as the prim, pince-nezzed woman wearing the uniform and cap of a supervising nurse who sat behind the desk that was its main furnishing.

Young Dr. Woodward stopped his horse and buggy in front of three tents.

The 707 flight from Petrol landed at Tulsa at 1:30 P.M.

It was only four-thirty in the afternoon, but already the traffic on San Francisco's Bay Shore Highway was as thick as thorns.

The road stretched ahead straight and narrow, white sand shadowed by ancient pines that stood darkly green against the sky that was still faintly touched with the afterglow of a September sunset.

Leona Parked the small car in the graveled drive and sat studying the house before her.

Dr. John Courtney came into the sunny, old-fashioned dining room, grinning with boyish glee and rubbing his hands together happily.

Lea stood unnoticed in the doorway for a long moment, her gray-green eyes misted with tears.

[sentence obscured by tear]

Felicity Caldwell, R.N., checked the last chart very carefully and tucked it neatly into its proper place in the rack beside her.

The ambulance slid to a halt, and the door was opened at the rear.

Kyria Galanos came along the wide verandah of the hospital, her uniform crisp and starchy in the early morning breeze.

It was a blustery morning with low-hanging clouds that spat handfuls of rain, with a wind that hurled the rain spitefully against the windows.

Gayle Abbott, R.N., came up the drive from town to the Tri-Counties Hospital that looked down benignly on the small mountain town and its people, as though in silent blessing.

Already the plane had circled Sydney twice.

The moment Fiona set eyes on Mrs. Darling's afternoon tea table, her spirits soared.

"And now," announced Mr. Ambrose Felix, M.B., B.Sc. (Med), F.R.A.C.S. (and several more), Chief of the Southerly General Hospital, Chairman of the Pacific Health Organization, Patron of the Farflung Nursing Association......and watch that one, the twelve "victims" on the benches beneath the dais could have warned..."we come to the actual ballot."

So it was all over at last--the trembling first day, when, in crackling new uniform, a cap that refused to sit and thick drab stockings, you presented yourself to Ward Sister.

"Well, if you're not in luck," said the girl at the Nurses' Home in St. Antholin's Hospital in the city of London.

Kathie Vincent sat in the great waiting-hall at the airport of Noonday, her travelling-case at her feet.

Kathie Vincent sat in the great waiting-hall at the airport of Noonday, her travelling-case at her feet.

Pat Merriford had taken her troubles to the bridge over the River Thames ever since her first day at St. Antholin's Hospital.

The corridor of the fifth floor of the Middleboro General Hospital was softly lighted, as was usual for the after-midnight hour.

Nurse Shirley Kane glanced up from the head nurse's desk where she was filling in for Head Nurse Nichols, who was marking the morning rounds with Dr. John Stamers.

The big clock on the wall of the main operating room of St. Paul's Hospital showed nine twenty-seven as Dr. Gregory Martn, the senior surgeon, entered in cap, mask and gown and came over to the patient already prepared.

The NASA engineer on the operating table snored gently, inflating the breathing bag with a healthy firmness that spoke well for his condition at the conclusion of an uneventful but tedious operation for a perforated ulcer.

Acapulco was everything Maria MacKenzie expected it to be.

There was only one person on the beach that morning--a man.

The winding road was so high and the Wyoming air so crisply clear that Nicole Lawson could see the peaks of the eastern wall of Yellowstone a jagged horizon a hundred miles away.

San Francisco Bay glittered at the end of the lengthening ribbon of road like a wish-kite on a string, then, as the cab crested the hill, it disappeared from view.

In her room in the corner of the nurses' home, tucked out of sight behind the back of the kitchen of San Francisco's Bayview Hospital, Student Nurse Tina Lambert was having trouble with the belt of her uniform.

"Where to, Miss?" the cabdriver asked cheerfully.

The tall, red-haired girl stepped out of the bus and, squinting against the powerful Mexican sun, eyed the line of houses that straggled along the beach front.

"Pulse still fast," the anesthetist said.

The student nurse glanced up and smiled as Michelle Banfield walked into the postoperative ward of Bay General Hospital.

Opiates had washed out both pain and reality so that the man in the bed lay quiet, breathing heavily and deeply.

Walking through the bustling airport terminal, Jan Fleming found it hard to believe her good luck.

A bitter wind swept down the length of Hurricane Valley as Ria Madden came down the steps of the base lodge.

As soon as Lori entered the hospital superintendent's office, she knew that Dr. Huntington was furious.

Jeanne Reynolds saw the hostility in the men's eyes, and a note of desperation crept into her voice as she repeated, "I'm sorry I can't help you an more, but this is a private clinic for Mexican farm workers only."

The plane moved steadily on its course over central Alaska.

The up-patients on the flat roof of the hospital were in a pleasant twitter.

Sally Marston washed up at the kitchen sink with a vigour that wasn't really justified.

I think surprise was my main emotion that sunny day in late spring, when I read on the General Post list that I was to be sent to Dorsingfield.

It was said at Kipton Mayley that Home Sister had a flair for putting girls together in the threesome rooms for the P.T.S.

It was Sunday morning, and though it was early, it was already evident that this was going to be a brutally hot day.

Ellen was standing under her big black umbrella watching the dark clouds flow by, when she saw the new doctor for the first time.

"Is there a doctor present?"

The narrow road followed the half-moon curve of the bay.

The road swooped above the vast Pacific, following the flounced contours of the Coast Range.

The small park was at the edge of the East River where Sutton Place south met Sutton Place north: where these streets ended abruptly, high above the water, a ramp sloped gently down to a lower level which was a resting place for the tired pedestrian, for those with time on their hands, or for the curious New Yorker who made it a point to discover, one after the other, the out-of-the-way nooks and crannies of the city.

There's a rambling old building, pink in color and eccentric in style, in the town of Silver Beach on the coast of Florida.

Nancy Craig followed Dr. Barrow out of the hospital room.

Nurse Jacqueline Clarke was doing temperatures in Lister Ward.

Kristy Wells ignored the vibrations of the jet engines as she studied a Virgin Islands travel folder.

"Now hear this!"

Norma Scott walked up the steep stairs into the plane, her heart beating just a little faster than usual.

Even before the key was in the lock the dog was plastered up against the door, whining anticipatingly.

The alarm clock rang out shrilly.

Tessa Winslow stepped briskly into Room 304.

It was Phyllis who answered the telephone on that March day.

Iris Turner was, from long experience, conscious that the men in the car followed her with their eyes when she walked down the aisle to a seat on the shady side.

Lunch had been especially satisfying today, Nancy thought.

"Oh, Jill, do stop croaking," Prudence Winter said, giving her friend a playful push.

Rosalind Lane sat on the side of her bed reading a letter.

The battered old bus lumbered to a stop, and the driver peered out at the driving rain, the jungle-like growth bending beneath the fury of the wind.

The receptionist smiled pleasantly at Linette.

Eugenia Hayes sat very straight in her chair, ankles neatly crossed, hands folded in her lap, her wide, gray-green eyes on the man who sat across the desk from her, his attention on the thin sheets of paper before him.

They had left the paved highway behind and were driving along a narrow graveled secondary road.

Future Nurse
Ann Galt stood on the wide terrace overlooking the valley and saw, through a mist of tears she could not control, the beloved, familiar scene that she would leave the next day.
Student Nurse
Loyce Hamilton, student nurse, senior grade, three months away from the coveted "RN" pin, walked along the corridor of Candler Memorial Hospital, trying very hard to still the thumping of her heart.

She came down the corridor of the dingy old building, a tall, pretty girl in a navy blue suit and hat, moving with unconscious grace.

As Lib Rainey came down the steps of County Hospital, her heart lifted in her breast and color touched her cheeks as she saw Chris just getting into his aged but quite respectable coupé.

Martia Stapleton came out of the long low building, with its proud sign, "SUNSET ACRES HOSPITAL AND CLINIC," and stood for a little, gratefully breathing in the fresh, fragrant, salt-tangy air.

It bore no resemblance to an ordinary hospital room, since it was the suite designed for the use of the family of the man who had endowed the hospital and who was its chief benefactor.

Arline Grayson stood still for a long moment, her alluring body beneath the crisply starched white uniform very erect, her shoulders back.

Julie woke in the thin gray light of a winter dawn.

Dr. John Courtney came into the sunny, old-fashioned dining room, grinning with boyish glee and rubbing his hands together happily.

Kathy Martell, aided by David's gentle hand beneath her elbow, stepped from the funicular and stood for a long moment dazed by the breath-taking beauty of the scene before her.

The tires of the little car sang merrily along the wide paved road, gaily tossing the miles behind it with a happy abandon that enchanted Polly.

A student nurse came swiftly down the corridor to the nurses' station where Susan Merrill stood chatting with Jane Leslie, who was on duty there.

Dr. Norman Hewatt came out of the hospital corridor to the terrace above the gentle sweep of green lawn that ended at the edge of the Gulf.

Christine Mayberry sat at the top of the steps leading down to the beach, her knees drawn up and encircled by her arms.

Luana stared at Denise in utter amazement.

Dr. Ellen Westbrook unlocked her apartment door, sighing wearily as she put down her hat, gloves and indispensable black bag.

Nurse Hillary
Dr. Ellen Westbrook unlocked her apartment door, sighing wearily as she put down her hat, gloves and indispensable black bag.
Research Nurse
On that blustery Saturday morning in late March, Sue Brinkley sat in her office at the Los Angeles Chalmers Clinic, considering the problem of love.

Joyce Bramblett crossed the wide, curving drive that circled the handsome villa and blinked happily at the golden sunlight dancing on the ruffled waters of the Bay.

The taxi-driver wheeled his car expertly out of the steady flow of traffic across the causeway and along the small private bridge that led to the island estate.

Juliet Cochran, R.N. brought the jeep to a halt and sat for a moment with her hands wearily poised on the wheel.

It was a good party, Brooke told herself happily as she surveyed the room; crowded, although there were no more than ten or twelve people there.

Melinda Bonner came briskly into the main lobby of the big hospital, very crisp and fresh in her immaculate white uniform, her jaunty little cap perched precariously on her shining blonde head.

Loyce Hamilton, student nurse, senior grade, three months away from the coveted "RN" pin, walked along the corridor of Candler Memorial Hospital, trying very hard to still the thumping of her heart.

Few people have any accurate understanding of the duties of a coroner.

The chimes from the gray stone church on the corner rang out the half-hour, and glancing up at the clock, Felicia Madison groaned.

While Helen Gaynor waited on the station platform she was once again assailed by the doubts that had plagued her ever since she had let Doctor Neath persuade her to leave Oxford and take a job in Wales, which he had assured her was just what she really needed.

The telephone was ringing insistently when Ruth Crane made her hurried journey downstairs to the living-room extension.

Elizabeth Sheldon sat down at her desk thankfully and opened the big operations book to enter her cases.

The little girl's screams made me furious.

After parking her car in the huge asphalt parking lot, Bret Ames picked up her bags and turned eagerly toward the hospital grounds.

It had been a long night, but the end of her journey was near.

Luggage and belongings had been stacked into the small car to such a point that the rear springs were sagging.

The telegram arrived before Cathy Corey, R.N., left for work at the hospital.

They had left the train at Center Point and had boarded the bus bound for Jonesville, still some hundred miles away.

The sun shining through the window of her car was hot against Gwen Lansing's face but she enjoyed the sensation of it, and seeing the skies so clear and bright gave her a lift.

Betty Roberts, R.N., pulled her convertible into the parking area behind the medical building and wished the day were already behind her.

The plane had soared across the flat plains, over fields of wheat and corn, droves of cattle and beet sugar farms.

He first kissed her on a rainy Monday, when it was apparent that one of his patients was going to live afterall.

Enid Lawrence, R.N., stifled a yawn as she hurried inside Parker Memorial Hospital, squinting in the bright sun.

Gwen Powell, R.N., stood looking out of her apartment window at the churning waters of Lake Michigan and could well imagine the icy winds sweeping across it.

It was a cold, blustery day.

The Twin Hills Country Club was located on the east edge of the thriving city of Barton, just a ten-minute drive from Wynne Bryant's small apartment.

Reba Rollins, R.N., heard the phone ringing as she went into the examination room where Doctor Samuel Nelson was waiting for her to assist him.

The green lights in surgery had been burning for nearly two hours.

Gwen Douglas, R.N., awakened to the rustling of aspens in the wind and the ring of an axe.

Darkness drifted outside the windows of Rockwell General Hospital like black curtains and Roanna Evans, R.N., caught a glimpse of herself mirrored in the glass.

Fairview shimmered in the bright sunlight as Lynn Lawrence, R.N., turned the wheel sharply and slid her small car into the parking slot.

Grimes City General was busy.

The City of New Richards was singing with activity as Camille Mitchell, R.N., stepped down from the bus.

The summer wind rippled the curtains in Adena York's apartment and music drifted around the room like a hazy cloud.

Jean Reese, R.N., had gone off her last case two days ago and, upon reaching home, had resolutely taken the phone off the hook.

Julia Mason, R.N., arrived at the office of Doctor Samuel Henderson every morning promptly at eight thirty.

White caps drifted on the sapphire water and foam was sudsy upon the sand.

The clock read three forty-five and Paulette Castle, R.N., hadn't got away from the hosptal [sic] yet.

Meg Ryan, R.N., reported to work at the Whitefield Memorial Hospital every day with a sense of fulfillment.

Davina Martin, R.N., paced the floor restlessly.

The lights were still blazing in emergency surgery at Sutton General Hospital.

Grimes City General was busy.

The sun filtered through the trees to touch Christine Morgan's golden hair as she walked away from her cottage.

Ann Clark, R.N., hugged her blue cape around her, feeling a bite in the wind as it swept off the Mississippi River.

It was noon of the second day when Glenda Lloyd reached Maple City.

The Heights University Campus was lush with late summer green and the hustle and hurry of early October with classes just a few weeks old into a new college year.

Kim Logan, R.N., had never been one to listen to the gossip on the hospital grapevine.

Jane Hamilton, the starched white of her nurse's uniform gleaming in the moonlight, stood on the top deck of the cruise ship Madrigal, looking absently out at the twinkling lights that marked the North African shoreline.

Awakening to a sudden, vivacious life of its own, the tiny light above the reception desk at dead center of Unit Three, Aloha Hospital, began to wink at her.

The hills and their forest of city had lifted up out of the sea hours ago, although they had remained invisible.

Once the bus left Key Vaca, the knowledge that she was almost there took possession of her entirely.

Lyle was happy to climb into Mark Lennon's car when he stopped beside her.

"Apple polisher!"

Ellen Gaylord, tenderly massaging her aching feet, frowned inhospitably as a fellow probationer hobbled into the room they temporarily shared.

The long Women's Surgical in Good Samaritan Hospital was experiencing its five o'clock restlessness.

The tall, angular girl turned before reaching the street.

It was two o'clock on a perfect August afternoon and the nurses who had been on night duty were stretching themselves preparatory to crowding into the next five hours as much fun and recreation as was possible before the seven o'clock shift.

"Wasn't that Gail Weston?"

"Well, now that you are a graduate nurse, and can put R.N. after your name," Mrs. Arden said to her daughter Jane, "what are your plans?"

It was a most official-looking letter.

It had not been a difficult decision for Jane Arden to make.

As Jane scrubbed for the first operation posted on the board, she felt more than a little panicky.

Everything had to end, Cindy knew.

Deborah hadn't wanted to go on the cruise.

It was early when Joy awakened, the morning sun slanting pale gold into her window and glinting in tiny jewels on the placid expanse of South Bay beyond.

It was a pleasantly warm day in early August, more typical of spring than high summer, and the two rows of young nurses were glad of this fact, or the occasion might have proved too much for them.

Looking back on it, today had probably been the wildest, most hectic one in Ellen Matthew's life.

"The best thing you can do, Ronnie my girl, is to marry young Cunningham."

"I do hope you really know what you are doing, my dear."

"Take your seats for second teas, please!"

"You're not thinking of staying on here alone, surely?"

"Any luck yet, dear?"

"I've had enough of this for today, Nurse."

"It's so warm today; I really think you might venture to sit out on the terrace for a little while," Tracy said, smiling, as she replaced the empty glass on the tray.

The bus conductor had not been particularly helpful.

Connie gave a last critical glance into the full-length mirror, then pirouetted for her roommate's inspection.

There's a first time for everything...

The overhead light in the operating room cast its white, shadowless beam on the aftermath of an operation that was one of the miracles of modern surgery.

First days were important--Elaine Forrest could remember the very tone of her father's voice the first time he had said that.

First days were important--Elaine Forrest could remember the very tone of her father's voice the first time he had said that.

She wasn't really listening, but it was impossible to escape hearing the strident voices of two women patients in the semi-private room next door to the small lavatory where Nurse Valerie Wyndam was washing up.

At one o'clock in the afternoon Nancy Bronson, R.N., turned her little car toward the northern boundary of New York City, headed for upper New York State.

In the predawn quiet, the great hospital slept.

The train ran through the middle of the town, bisecting Main Streeet.

The crack tourist train was a stainless steel arrow, hurtling along the tracks, its blunt nose headed due south.

It was unnaturally dark beneath the cedars that grew to the edge of the land.

To Barrie Foster, R.N., nothing was changed in her home town of Delta.

Tomorrow is my wedding day! Teresa Kilmer told the mirrored reflection of blue-eyed radiance.

Jenny Dawson wheeled the old Ford into the hospital parking grounds between a foreign-built station wagon and a smart convertible.

Dr. Norman Evans had been Alice Gregory's favorite patient ever since she received the assignment to call upon him in her official capacity as nurse to the blind.

The street was grey between the lines of the faded houses.

Whenever a new man came to work at the plant, he was supposed to report that same day, or shortly thereafter, to Marian Courtney, the nurse in charge of the employees' physical welfare.

Susan knew that it had been cowardly of her to postpone telling her mother that she was not going back to Meredith College for her senior year.

There was a party in full swing at The Officer's Rest Hotel.

They say there is something about a uniform.

Pamela hadn't really wanted to take the case.

"I am sorry but you cannot see Dr. Hendricks without an appointment," Miss Rutledge was saying in her precise, authoritative tone as Ellen started to pass on down the hall to change her white nurse's uniform for street clothes.

There were dancing little waves on the ocean, the sky was that incredible cloudless blue, the tall palms swayed slightly in the summer breeze and murmured their song of enchantment.

It all began with the advertisement.

If Nora Williams had had misgivings about her decision to come home, they were banished as she rode her sorrel mare over a narrow trail that became the only means of travel where roads left off across vast gulch-cut plains and high mountain ranges.

They were all waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and she walked down slowly, feeling like an actress making an entrance.

The interview with the director of nurses wasn't going well.

A shimmer of heat haze hung over Folger Street as Becky Hazlett made the turn at its narrow corner and drove her convertible carefully past a parked truck.

It was hot and airless in the mud and wattle hut--airless and filled with the smell of fever and African herbs that the tribe's witch doctor had brewed and fed Nierna.

The hot desert sun, Pamela West thought, burned as relentlessly as the determination in each of the eight carefully-chosen astronaut candidates to be part of the Apollo team to orbit the earth.

"You attention, please."

"Karryliukpuk! Look at those cars!"

Screaming sirens.

It wasn't a bad neighboorhood [sic], but it looked bad, and when Dora was on night duty she always hurried west from subway or bus, between the unbroken rows of dingy buildings, old-fashioned apartment houses alternating with little shops, warehouses, and small factories, and breathed a sigh of relief when she was within the staff entrance of the hospital.

"Elizabeth Downer."

The slow train from Perth and the South hooted mournfully as the little signal box of Tochmar loomed through the autumn's afternoon mist.

Frieda slept.

I hesitated before the entrance to the soot-blackened building which was one of Manchester's leading hotels, and attempted to calm the agitation which was rising within me, catching me by the throat and making my hands clammy.

Coleen Scott, Kelly to family and friends, regarded her roommate anxiously.

She was blond.

When I came here for a tour prior to nursing school, they took us through the burn unit.

The train which had nosed its way across mile upon mile of desolate yellow land shunted to a stop beside a single spindly tree.

"Is there a doctor on the train?"

When I came downstairs, carrying two heavy suitcases, my mother was standing in the hall.

There is nothing more intimate than the ordinary, everyday contacts of nurse and patient.

"It puts us in a spot," said Kathie.

Lady Benton was our final patient on that summer Friday afternoon.

The stewardess moved down the aisle, balancing the tray of coffee and pineapple juice with practiced ease.

Kerry Kincaid, scrubbed, gowned, masked and gloved, took her place at the right of Doctor Hamilton.

Genene Jones always cried when babies died!

She had forgotten that there were rooms like this one.

In gray-blue uniforms and freshly starched aprons and bibs the graduating nurses of St. Agatha's Hospital marched through the wide doorway of the great cathedral, and paused for the final signal.

Two-thirty by the white-faced clock high on the ward hall of St. Agatha's Hospital, standing on one of New York's clifftops.

Arlene opened her eyes and for a moment thought she was still dreaming.

Linda drove slowly through the spacious hospital grounds.

He sensed the change of speed and altitude before the signal, in words of green light, announced it was time to fasten seat belts and stop smoking.

Cherry Aimless cut an attractive figure as she dashed through the crowded lobby of Seattle General Hospital, her striking royal blue nurse's cape sailing behind her and her crisp white cap perched precariously on rumpled curls.

The final interview was over and Gale was leaving the offices of The Triple Star Line feeling light-headed.

Timothy must want to talk to her about Lee.

Paula Kronander said defensively, "I like to learn things."

Like a captain on the bridge or a sentry on the ramparts--mind keyed to responsibility and every sense alert--Kristine Grant, night charge nurse, paced between the double rows of beds in Ward D, Male Medical, Samaritan Hospital.

"I don't want to die!"

Under Spanish moss from the mighty oaks, Misty Marshall drove up the narrow road to the plantation home of Dr. Reed Spenser, just outside of Arledge, Georgia.

The hospital was humming with activity.

He sat on the port side of the ship, just outside the radar shack and the ladder leading up to the bridge.

When Tracy came out of the operating room, the charge nurse looked up from her desk and said, "Miss Moore, you are to report to CNO."

At last, sighed April Bonner, entering the portals of the big hospital.

A sudden rift in the low hanging clouds seemed the work of an invisible giant, snatching a drape from a huge painting.

As always, Elizabeth Lathrop looked as if she had stepped straight from a model's bandbox.

It had been one of those July days that are rare even in the Cumberlands, pleasantly hot, somnolent, touched by magic and a peculiar, enchanting timelessness.

It had been one of those nights on Second, the surgical floor at Dorn Memorial Hospital, and Celeste Weller, R.N., was tired to her marrow as she charted a medication she had just administered to a patient who would go to Surgery in another few hours.

"It isn't one of those plush setups in a Medical Arts Building," remarked Dr. Ian Davies with a glance that bespoke satisfaction with what he saw in the spartanly furnished reception room of the tiny mountain clinic.

"It does take your breath away, doesn't it?"

Until something like this happened, Kathy always loved the hospital best at night.

The Cadwallader place was everything that Giff had said it was, Nurse Jill Nolan thought as she drove Carol Cadwallader Winston's robin's-egg blue Lincoln from the highway onto the long, circuitous, white-rock driveway that led toward a tall pillared, shining-white house that looked as if Nature and not man had crowned the hill with it.

It had not been a pleasant evening, and for the life of her, Ellen Dexter did not know why.

"Seat belt, Mr. Jefferson," Stewardess Sarah Bennett of Alaska Passenger and Freight Airways reminded the full moon-faced main in an aisle seat halfway back.

The whole thing happened so suddenly so compulsively, that it was over almost before Melanie Woods had realized it had even begun.

The slight nip in the air was a welcome change from the overheated room she had just left.

Ann Wellington paused for a moment on the bright chrome, stone, and glass approach to huge Memorial Hospital and felt again the sharp empty fluttering of inexplicable anxiety.

"So there you are."

The swing doors were almost noiseless, but old George had been porter at St. Ethelburga's for so many years now that his ears were familiar with the faintest whisper of sound and identified it at once.

The new Cadillac glided to a halt behind Lime Valley General Hospital, whose low roof could be seen over the tip of the orange grove.

"Answer me!"

It was raining when Jane came out of the door of the Nurses Home and ran down the steps.

As Mary Ellis Stebbins walked down to the street level of Woodycrest Station she was remembering the June day nearly a year ago when she and her friend Julie Saunders had stepped off the train and walked down those same steps for the first time.

Feeling about as stiff with fright as her apron was with starch, Andrea stood in the doorway of the ward trying desperately to overcome a sudden sense of panic, and an overwhelming desire to turn and run--away from this strange, new world to Godfrey, who was waiting to give her love and the security of marriage.

It was in the nurses' dining room that Vanessa first saw the new student nurse.

"Lucky you, Staff Barlow!"

Debby Carfax, staff nurse on Ward Seven (Women's Surgical Unit) at Netherside General Hospital, Frinley, sighed as she left the dining-hall.

Staff Nurse Jane Kelsey descended the wide, impressive staircase of the Mowberry Private Nursing Home slowly and thoughtfully.

"I am well aware, Nurse," Sister Wright's cold tones would, Lavina thought, have chilled the spine of an imp from an inferno, let alone a young staff nurse whose only crime was to be one minute late on duty, "that you are longing for the end of the week, when your spell on the Surgical Unit will be over!"

The pale autumn sunlight filtered through the partly closed curtains and lingered on the shrunken face of the old woman lying in the old-fashioned four-poster bed.

"Another ten minutes or so and I shall have to go, or I'll be in serious trouble."

"You're not on Casualty today, Nurse Saxon."

Alison Gray was standing before her small mirror in the room which had been hers for so long, wondering if, after all, she had done the right thing.

"Peep, peep, peep..."

Home Sister stopped me in the hall to tell me that my missing caps had turned up in the laundry at last, and then kept me talking.

This afternoon we signed our agreements in matron's office, and she smiled tigerishly and said, "I hope you three now feel that you really belong here."

Iva Luanne Loring, R.N., slithered her car onto a turn-out at the top of the hill and sat staring down at her home city.

Kathryn Kilburn eased her fresh cap into its cellophane carrier, straightened and looked with distress at her house mate, elbows propped on the dinette table the better to brace her coffee cup.

Nurse Cherry Caldwell had smoothed the neck of her uniform and was reaching for her cap when the door opened.

It was raining in Kabul; not a gentle spring rain such as Alice Walker was used to back in Illinois, but a torrential downpour which was already beginning to wear tiny furrows in the adobe roofs spread out below her.

Alys had been in love with Richard Kent ever since the first day he came to St. Anne's six months ago as a medical registrar.

The tension which held the group of white-clad figures under the glare of the shadowless lamp now eased a little.

The nurses were restless.

A hospital is a living organism.

"Scalpel."

The blunt end of the scissors felt cold on her cheek as they cut through the thick gauze dressing.

The arrival of three new medical men at St. Bede's Hospital sent a tidal wave of excitement surging through the wards.

The lone figure etched against the threatening sky pulled his coat closer against the rising wind.

There was a very special air about the huge university campus that particular morning.

The idea came to them on a windy night in late March, thirteen weeks before they were to be graduated.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, an hour when the staff of City Hospital on Indianapolis's West Side had not yet steeled themselves for the hectic, busy time that would come later.

Holly rubbed her hand across the airplane window and peered down at the silver ribbon of road beneath.

The plane circled low, its left wing digging; then it centered in for a landing.

Cocoa Beach was its usual loud-mouthed, gay, extravagant self when Julie got off duty at Community Hospital that evening.

The famous Peter Ritter Clinic sat at the top of a small hill overlooking the lake that separated West Palm Beach from the exclusive town of Palm Beach itself.

She awoke to the gentle and polite voice of the porter, telling her that Percy's Pass was the next stop and that this was the last call for breakfast.

It was, thought Katie, exactly the way it had been in the flat picture in her hometown newspaper or on the bluish T.V. screen back at the Medical Officers' Lounge in Savannah, Georgia at the air base.

From the window of the fifth floor sterilizing lab, Ann Howard looked proudly out at the new wing of Mariners Hospital.

When Lori Todd came to Richelieu Pictures as studio nurse, she made a solemn vow to keep her private life separate from her professional one.

The Operating Room was hot.

"This is a nurses' dorm?"

Noel had laid aside her paperback romance to peer out of the window when the stewardess announced that they would be landing momentarily at San Francisco International Airport.

Jill Baldwin stood in the middle of the bare living room that seemed so large now--large, cold and empty in direct contrast to the cosy room with gay print drapes and colorful, comfortable furniture that she had taken so many months of planning and work to assemble.

"There!"

The small white-walled office was as formal and cold as the prim, pince-nezed woman, wearing the uniform and cap of a supervising nurse, who sat behind the desk that was its main furnishing.

As Shirley Grant made her way up the steep, hilly street to Eastern Memorial Hospital, her attractive young face registered concern, caused by the confusion of thoughts that raced through her mind.

"I'm terribly sorry to drag you into this, Nurse Sheridan."

Kim was in the sadly neglected garden behind the Ratanui Hospital tugging at a huge root of cocksfoot when she heard a car slowing to a stop, and there sat Dr. Cooper, watching her.

"What was the picture like last night, Nicky?"

"It--it's addressed to Moss, and it's my writing--"

Sheila Dorrance folded the last of the white uniforms--drip-dry because she wasn't sure what facilities there would be for nurses' laundry aboard ship--put it on top of the other clothes already overflowing the fortnighter, and just managed to snap the suitcase locked without having to sit on it.

"Where the devil are you going?"

"Hi, Miss Morgan!"

Marilyn Morgan pulled her light coat closely around her as she hurried down the steps of City Hospital.

Morgan Terry took his time turning from the window, beyond which a creek that eventually would find its way into the South Branch of the Potomac River lost itself around a scrub-pine-clad elbow of rock and thin soil that jutted into the small valley.

Although it was not the largest hospital in Lanier, General held an enviable position among them, a position due largely to Dr. Andrew Paulson, General's chief surgeon, and the staff--composed for the most part of men like young Dr. Dave Ellison--that he had gathered around him.

Tropic breezes from the sea had already cooled off sun-baked Acapulco when Candy Connors left the hospital one evening in October.

Margo Hale's slim body rocked with the motion of the yellow cab.

A pensive quiet pervaded the pleasant little town of Monterey.

Awakening to a sudden, sprightly life of its own, the small village of Timber Town, nestled high in the pine-covered mountains of California, took on an early morning rumble of activity.

He sat down heavily at the window and parted the dotted-Swiss curtains.

Quiet settled over the large house as the luncheon trays were removed from the patients' bedrooms.

Practically everyone around the hospital told Vicky Blair she was making a mistake to quit her job.

Her name was Kitty Casey.

It was around four o'clock on Saturday afternoon when Dr. Brad Portner strode into his office at Faith Sanitarium.

When she awoke that spring morning, there was nothing to warn Nora Hilton that it would be a day which would threaten to put an end to her romance with Doctor Paul Anderson and come close to putting an end to her.

It was late August and the harvest moon hung heavy in the early evening sky like a golden pendulum, its brilliant beams bathing the U-shaped apartment building in liquid shimmering light.

The desert road stretched ahead as far as the eye could see.

The white peaked mountains of Alaska rose like bony fingers into the sky.

Jane was a registered nurse, living in Philadelphia.

Today was the day.

All afternoon the May sunshine had darkened till the treetops moved in a yellow aquarium light.

The slender blonde nurse cradled the emergency call phone at the Suicide Prevention Center, feeling sad and depressed.

Beth kicked the old suitcase with one small, smart shoe.

At eleven-thirty on this mid-June morning, the harsh outlines of University Hospital were softened by a haze of heat.

Judy George adjusted the plastic raincape that covered her white uniform and pulled its cap over her black curls.

This was the time of day Nina Grant loved best, these precious minutes between twilight and dark when the lights in the long white halls of St. Anne's Hospital came on although bits of daylight still lingered.

Clare Kincaid woke up from the nightmare, screaming.

It was around four o'clock on Christmas Eve when Kitty Foster left the real estate agent's office.

Susan Whittier knew the letter by heart.

"I don't believe my mummy is dead," said the little boy on the hospital bed.

Outside Dowling Memorial Hospital, clearly spring had arrived.

During her two years at the small Southern California hospital, there had been quite a few of her patients who had claimed that Courage Williams was the prettiest nurse ever to come from the Kentucky hills.

Dr. Nat Casey sat in his office in the administrative building at Olive Hill psychiatric clinic, scowling mightily.

On that blustery Saturday morning in late March, Sue Brinkley sat in her office at the Los Angeles Chalmers Clinic, considering the problem of love.

On that blustery Saturday morning in late March, Sue Brinkley sat in her office at the Los Angeles Chalmers Clinic, considering the problem of love.

"Fasten Seat Belts" announced the small, lighted panel at the far end of the aircraft.

Cherry walked slowly through the residential section of her little Illinois home town.

"How do I like my new job?"

"People come from all over the county, and from further afield, too."

The taxi carried Amanda Milton past the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Club, made a turn into a side road and travelled on towards the hedges and low brick wall surrounding Calderwood Hospital.

Jan leaned over the side of the ship, watching the three figures disappear among the crowds, and she blinked her eyes fiercely.

The sinking sun painted everything a shimmering pink and gold, in places the color deepened to flame with shadows of clear purple.

Matron's office was as cool, stark, and functional as the lady herself.

A summons to Matron's office usually meant trouble if it came in the middle of the morning, when each ward could well have used six extra pairs of hands; but Mab Masters, staff nurse on Women's Medical, had a clear conscience as she hastened away quick-footedly to keep the appointment.

"I hear you're out of work."

Christy Merrill, standing before the mirror in the nurses' lounge, slowly took off her white cap.

Catherine Linton sat in the living room of the small house, still feeling numb from the shock of her father's death, more than two weeks ago.

"Hi, Nicki!"

There was a late afternoon quiet about the Bennett Memorial Hospital after the long, hectic day.

Catherine Linton sat in the living room of the small house, still feeling numb from the shock of her father's death, more than two weeks ago.

Cherry wished the train would go faster.

"This," said Cherry, "is pretty wonderful!"

Almost--almost there!

"Ligature, please."

Kevin Allison--one of six interns serving a one-year-rotation internship at Lincoln General Hospital--shivered involuntarily at the sound of the siren.

Nurse Clare Andrews stood watching the giant Boeing 707-320 jet at its loading platform.

As Beth Kane came up the steps from the subway station at Seventh Avenue and Fiftieth Street, a sudden gust of cold wind drove the icy granules of snow into her face with cutting harshness.

Gail Sheridan adjusted the blinds to shut the morning sun from her patient's eyes.