Hemmed in on both sides by two of the hottest deserts in the world, the Red Sea proved to be a veritable inferno. So hot was it that even the swimming pool did not offer a haven of refuge.
“Here’s hoping the Red Sea doesn’t close in on us,” laughed Joe. “It did on Pharaoh’s men, you know, in Biblical times.”
“Guess there isn’t any danger,” came from Bob, fanning himself vigorously. “We haven’t anything but good intentions.”
Cecil Purl Stone also found the heat torturing.
“Why don’t you take off your coat?” asked Bob. “You’ll smother to death.”
“Mamma says I just must leave it on,” was the reply. “There are ladies on the boat, you know.”
“Phooey!” muttered Joe, under his breath.
At last the Zanzibar emerged into the Indian Ocean, after having steamed through the Red Sea for six days.
Once Bob and Joe were standing at the rail, watching the schools of porpoises, the occasional flying fish, and the less frequent fins of sharks, when they suddenly heard a stamping noise coming from around the promenade deck. Wondering what was meant, they turned and waited.
A moment later appeared Cecil Purl Stone, running awkwardly around the corner.