As they pushed the bed off the elevator on the second floor he saw the time with a sudden sense of dismay.

6:15.

He should have been getting ready for Gaby. Instead he faced at least another twenty minutes before he could leave his patient.

Room 218 was empty, and he placed Mr. Grigio in it in isolation and then concentrated on how he would treat the burn locally, wondering what Meomartino was using on the other patient in the women’s ward.

Miss Fultz was seated in the nurses’ station working on the inevitable records with her massive black fountain pen. As usual, he might have been the shadow of a gnat. Tiring of waiting for her to look up, he cleared his throat. “Where can I find a large sterile basin? And I need a few other things.”

A freshman nurse was scuttling past. “Miss Anderson, give him what he needs,” the head nurse said quietly, without missing a pen-stroke.

“Joseph P. Grigio is in 218. He’ll need special nurses for at least three shifts.”

“No specials are available,” she told her desk.

“Why the hell not?” he said, more annoyed at her refusal to talk to him than he was at the problem.

“For some reason, girls no longer are becoming nurses.”

“We’ll have to transfer him to Intensive Care.”

“The care in Intensive Care is not so intensive. It’s been overloaded since a week ago last Tuesday,” she said, her great lance of a pen making tight little circles in the air before slashing down to pin a period to the page.

“Put in an order for specials. Let me know as soon as you hear something, please.”

He accepted a white sterile bowl from Miss Anderson and mixed his witch’s brew. Ice cubes, to cool and anesthetize the burn and keep the swelling down as much as possible. Saline, because plain water would have acted as a leaching agent on the body electrolytes. Phisohex for cleansing; it curdled in swirls as he stirred the mixture. All he lacked was dragon’s blood and tongue of newt.

He started to take gauze pads from a cupboard and then, noticing sanitary napkins on a higher shelf, took three boxes of Kotex, ideal for the job.

“Ah—you aren’t by chance available to give this patient a little help?”

“No, Doctor. Miss Fultz has me doing three other things, including running bedpans for the whole ward.”

He nodded, sighing. “Would you do just one thing for me? Make a quick phone call?” He wrote Gabrielle Pender’s name and number on a prescription pad and tore off the blank. “Tell her I’m afraid I’m going to be a little late.”

“Sure. She’ll wait. I would.” The girl grinned and then was gone, leaving him to ponder small-buttocked Scandinavian attractiveness, but not for long. He took the basin gingerly to Room 218, sloshing only a little onto the polished corridor floor, and dropped the pads into the brew. A gentle squeeze to get rid of excess moisture, and then he laid each wet pack on burned flesh, starting at the head and working downward until Mr. Grigio wore a crazy suit of sodden Kotex. When he had covered the shins he started all over again, replacing the oldest air-warmed pads with cold, wet ones.