There remained, nevertheless, the
pressing problem of the three strayed pillow-cases. These Sister
commanded me to obtain from the Clean Linen Store. But you cannot go to
the Clean Linen Store and say "Please give me three pillow-cases." The
Clean Linen Store either says "Why?" (a question which, under the
circumstances, is flatly unanswerable), or else tells you, in language
both firm and ornamental, that you have already had them: your initialed
chit testifies the fact.
At all events, after some parley, the Clean Linen Store sergeant (who
was less of an ogre than he pretended) offered to strike a bargain with
me. If I would count all the pillow-cases, in and out of use, in my
ward, and bring him the total, he would compare the said total with the
figures in his ledger. Those figures he would not divulge to me. But if
the number I announced was three short of the number in his ledger, he
would give me the three, and say no more about it.
The bargain seemed a fair one. In Sister's absence I spent a precious
half-hour of what should have been my "afternoon off" in counting all
the pillow-cases I could find in the ward.
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