"Dare we try it on a human subject?" I asked, tentatively.

Hilda Wade answered at once, with that unerring rapidity of hers: "Yes,
certainly; on a few--the right persons. _I_, for one, am not afraid to
try it."

"You?" I cried, feeling suddenly aware how much I thought of her. "Oh,
not YOU, please, Nurse Wade. Some other life, less valuable!"

Sebastian stared at me coldly. "Nurse Wade volunteers," he said. "It is
in the cause of science. Who dares dissuade her? That tooth of yours?
Ah, yes. Quite sufficient excuse. You wanted it out, Nurse Wade.
Wells-Dinton shall operate."

Without a moment's hesitation, Hilda Wade sat down in an easy chair and
took a measured dose of the new anaesthetic, proportioned to the average
difference in weight between raccoons and humanity. My face displayed my
anxiety, I suppose, for she turned to me, smiling with quiet confidence.
"I know my own constitution," she said, with a reassuring glance that
went straight to my heart. "I do not in the least fear."

As for Sebastian, he administered the drug to her as unconcernedly as
if she were a rabbit. Sebastian's scientific coolness and calmness have
long been the admiration of younger practitioners.

Wells-Dinton gave one wrench. The tooth came out as though the patient
were a block of marble. There was not a cry or a movement, such as
one notes when nitrous oxide is administered. Hilda Wade was to all
appearance a mass of lifeless flesh. We stood round and watched. I