This meant a humble
return to the Clean Linen Store to beg for the mistake's rectification;
and the sergeant in charge had merely to take your chit from his file,
and show you your own initials on it, to prove that you were in the
wrong.
It is conceivable that by means of a ward stocktaking and a reference of
the results to the figures in the sergeant's huge ledger, you might have
proved that you were not in the wrong. But the only time I ever knew one
of these disputes to be thus put to the test I admit I wished that I had
refrained from so temerarious an adventure. Somehow or other I had
managed to come back to the ward with three clean pillow-cases fewer
than the tale of dirty ones I had taken away. And Sister was exceedingly
cross. The particular Sister whose drudge I was at that period was
rather apt to be cross; and this was one of her crossest days. She
threatened to "report" me, and in fact did so. I was not--as she seemed
to expect--shot at dawn. I merely underwent a formal reproof from a high
authority who perhaps (but this is a surmise) knew Sister's
idiosyncrasies even better than I did.
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