onality.

As there are Icelanders urbane, witty, lazy ... and yet they are all
Icelanders ... so there are cold, uproarious, observant, subservient,
slangy, sympathetic, indifferent, and Scotch Sisters, and yet....

Sister said of a patient to-day, "He was a funny man."

A funny man is a man who is a dark horse: who is neither friendly nor
antagonistic; who is witty; who is preoccupied; who is whimsical or
erratic--funny qualities, unsafe qualities.

No Sister could like a funny man.

In our ward there are three sorts of men: "Nothing much," "nice boys,"
and Mr. Wicks.

The last looms even to the mind of the Sister as a Biblical figure, a
pillar of salt, a witness to God's wrath.

The Sister is a past-mistress of such phrases as "Indeed!" "That is a
matter of opinion," "We shall see..." "It is possible."

I have discovered a new and (for me) charming game which I play with my
Sister. It is the game of telling the truth about the contents of my
mind when asked.

Yesterday Sister was trying to get some coal out of the coal-bin with a
shovel that turned round and round on its handle; she was unsuccessful.

I said, "Let me, Sister!"

She said, "Why?"

And I: "Because I think I can do it better."

"Why should you think that?"

"Because all human beings do," I said, and, luckily, she smiled.

She was washing her caps out in a bowl in the afternoon when I came on.

"Good afternoon, Sister," I said. "Ironing?"

"I am obviously only washing as yet," she said.

"It's because I think so quickly, Sister," I said; "I knew you would
iron next."

I dined with Irene last night after the hospital.

I refused to believe what she told me about the last bus passing at
half-past nine, and so at a quarter to ten I stood outside "The Green
Lamp" and waited.

Ten minutes passed and no bus.

With me were two women waiting too--one holding a baby; the other,
younger, smarter, dangling a purse.

At last I communicated my growing fears: "I believe the last has
gone...."

We fixed our six eyes on the far corner of the road, waiting for the
yellow lights to round it, but only the gas-lamps stood firm in their
perspective.

"Oh my, Elsie!" said the woman with the baby, "you can't never walk up
to the cross-roads in the dark alone!"

"I wouldn't make the attempt, not for anything!" replied the younger one
firmly.

Without waiting for more I stepped into the middle of the road and
started on my walk home; the ve