David closed his eyes. "No, sir. I don't think so."

"All right. I'll check on you later."

That evening, despite the fact that Johnson was on call, he went back to the ward. All the patients had been settled in for the night. The ward master was in the treatment room, cutting adhesive tape into 12-inch strips.

"What's new, White?"

"Nothing, Doc, really. Same old thing."

"How's Jensen doing?"

White put his scissors back into his pocket.

"He's doing all right. We drew two blood cultures on him this evening and sent a titer off for moniliasis. He had some difficulty using the blocks, but he got a few bites down; seems as if the sulfamyelon is bothering him. Stinging him. You never know who it's going to bother."

Edwards walked out into the unit. David was on a Stryker frame halfway down the ward, lying on his stomach. White sulfamyelon cream was smeared all over his burnt back, buttocks, and legs.

"How's it going?"

"Fine, sir."

"The ward master told me that you did all right at supper."

"Yes, sir."

Later that evening, one of David's blood cultures began to grow out Pseudomonas arinosa, a bacillus resistant to most antibiotics. The bacteriology lab called the ward and the ward master called Edwards. He told the ward master to restart David's IV and put him on 200 mg of polymyxin every four hours.

The next morning, after rounds. Johnson got him alone. "About Jensen's polymyxin," he said. "Do you think his kidneys are good enough to handle that big does?"