“Who can cut me out a neat cross? This is all lopsided,” said the chief cutter-out. She held up a badly cut cross of red cloth.
“I know who can make a better one than that,” I cried and went in search of J.
“We shall want a good many, for every one of them must wear the badge on his left arm,” said the chief cutter-out.
“We fly the Red Cross then? It has been arranged?”
The Ambassador had cut another strand of the red tape that strangles Italy. Permission to fly the Red Cross flag had been asked and refused because none of the party belonged to the Italian Society, though several were members of the American Association. When in order to overcome this objection the leaders asked leave to join the Italian Red Cross, the answer was that it would take two weeks for them to be elected. Mr. Griscom passed over the refusal and carried the request to a higher court, where it was granted.
My last impression of the “Bayern” was that scene in the saloon, where Thompson and J. stood patiently cutting out the red cloth crosses and the trained nurses sat stitching them neatly on the ivory cloth bands. At two o’clock Mrs. Griscom and the ladies of her auxiliary committee left the ship and took the train for Rome with Mr. Parrish and Mr. Page.
“Of course I wanted to go to Messina,” said Mr. Parrish, “but somebody had to stay in Rome to attend to this end of the business!”
At four o’clock the “Bayern” sailed,
STROMBOLI FROM THE “BAYERN.” [Page 121.]