Cherry Ames 09 Cruise Nurse by Helen Wells

Crane:
    “About what was his fl uid intake? Did you manage to get a pint into him?”
    “Oh, nothing like that,” Mrs. Crane admitted. “He wouldn’t take a thing after that one glass of pineapple juice. And he blew most of that all over the bed. I had to get a maid to change the sheets. They were soaked.”
    “Oh, dear,” Cherry moaned inwardly. “Not enough fl uid, and to make matters worse, Timmy probably was allowed out of bed while it was being changed.” Timmy, reading the despair on Cherry’s face and correctly guessing the reason for it, began to sob. “Now, don’t you scold me. I feel awful sick. I hurt all over.” He fl ipped around like a fi sh to bury his face in the pillows. “I want my Nanny,” he kept wailing. “She never scolds me. Don’t you try to make me drink water. I hate 76 CHERRY
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    water. When I have to have it, Nanny feeds it to me with a spoon and tells me stories all the time.” Cherry tried to comfort him, deciding that she would not wait until eight to take his temperature. She would take it just as soon as he quieted down.
    “Don’t cry, Timmy,” she said soothingly. “I’ll feed you water with a spoon and tell you stories too.” Immediately, he fl ipped back to grin up at her.
    “Okey-dokey. Go get the nasty old water and a spoon.
    But your stories better be good or I won’t swallow a drop.”
    Rain was splattering against the windows that opened out on the deck. Cherry hoped that Timmy wasn’t going to be seasick along with his cold. The deck heaved beneath her feet and she almost spilled the water she brought from the bathroom. But Timmy didn’t seem to mind the Julita’s jerky progress at all.
    Cherry told him stories until she was almost as hoarse as he was, but in the end she managed to spoon four ounces of water into him and six ounces of prune juice.
    When she fi nally took his temperature she found it had risen to 103°. She must consult Dr. Monroe at once. He would probably want to start Timmy on sulfa at eight instead of the aspirin. It was almost eight now, and she was due in sick bay for Bill’s regular check.
    When would Mrs. Crane come back?
    In desperation she rang the steward’s bell. “I hope it doesn’t bring Waidler,” she mumbled. But it did.

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    “Well?” he scowled from the doorway. “What does your highness want now?”
    Cherry blinked back tears of exhaustion and anxiety.
    “Please, Waidler,” she begged, “will you go and get Mrs.
    Crane? I imagine she’s still at dinner. I have to go down to sick bay for a few minutes.”
    “What’s stopping you?” he demanded sourly. “Don’t tell me this little bit of motion has thrown you off your feet. Wait until tonight. If you can’t walk now you’ll be a big help when the passengers start sending for you.”
    Cherry sucked in a deep breath. “It’s not the rough seas,” she said quietly. “I can’t leave this little boy alone.
    He’s running quite a bit of temperature. Please, get his mother.”
    Waidler merely glared at her. And then, miracu-lously, Timmy came to the rescue. “Tell me a story, please, Mr. Waidler,” he said. “Tell me a story about pirates.”
    Cherry felt sorry for innocent little Timmy who took it for granted that everyone was his friend. “That old sea dog, Waidler, probably does know some swell yarns,” she thought. “But he wouldn’t waste a minute of his precious time amusing a sick little boy.”
    “Oh, all right, all right,” Waidler was mumbling gruffl y. “Go long, Nurse. But don’t get it into your head that sitting with your patients is one of my duties. If the Captain ever heard about this—” He shook his head darkly. “No good will come of it. Mark my words!” 78 CHERRY
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    But Timmy merely wriggled ecstatically, and patted a spot beside him on the bed. “Sit down here, Mr. Waidler. I have to know all about pirates.” Cherry fl ed, thinking, “If anyone can get under