We stopped there a few hours of a Saturday afternoon.
Everything was shut up—couldn't buy a shirt for love or money.
We were now in the Red Sea and no German gunboats had found us, as yet. By this time it wasn't the fear of German gunboats that was causing me anxiety. To dress for dinner with that bunch of Englishmen had gotten to be a mania with me, and there were five days more to Port Said before I could buy some dress shirts. My shirt would go one more time hind side to, but after that something would have to be done.
On the ninth day for dinner I turned that shirt inside out—and got by.
A mighty load was lifted from my soul. On a pinch she would last eight more days that way, four days inside out front to, four days inside out back to.
Safe for eight days more and we'd make Port Said in five!
We made Port Said all right—slipped past in the night; not so much as a fire-cracker to wake me up.
We were now in the Mediterranean, and Gibraltar our next stop—six days away.
Italy was still neutral. But I had got where I didn't give a tinker's dam about the neutrality of Italy—what I wanted was some clean dress shirts.