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Show "Put this probationer in charge of treatments, " orders vinegar-voiced, red-headed supervisor acidly, withering the deposed treatment nurse to a quivering ash as she sweeps by. "You saved the day for good old 1C, " gloats Charge Nurse, in relief. "You know, when you came here from 3C your former charge nurse-she's my room mate, you know-told me I was getting the rottenest probie in the hospital. Will I take pleasure in setting her straight!" In the field of nursing the pendulum sweeps the whole way from pilloried disfavor to a golden pedestal. It never stops in between. * * * * * * * * * The next scene is different. It is the occasion of the unveiling of a statue. Noted men of the city are gathered in the Empire Room of the Hotel Utah for a luncheon. Photographers are poised in the offing, and speeches are made concerning the subject of the statue, who was the founder of the society, and who passed on to more or less glory some years previous. This heroic sized bust is to commemorate him in perpetuity. Glowing words are said of the sculptor, who worked from photographs and verbal descriptions of family members, and is now asked to stand and take a bow. It is a great moment, but the timing is off a bit, and catches the poor sculptor with a forkful of beef stroganoff half-way to the mouth. The fork is lowered circumspectly to the plate but accidently placed at such an angle that the palm of the hand placed on the table for leverage comes down on the curved handle and neatly lobs the beef stroganoff into the bosom of the sculptor, a woman. |
