Besides all these advantages, this place had two showers—and private ones at that. I mean, with doors that latch and everything! Ideal! So this day I waltzed in with a towel and soap tucked under my blouse. There was a Captain in there at the time, so I made believe I had come for another purpose and beat a hasty retreat. A little later, I tried again and, not seeing anyone around, concluded that the time was ripe. So I started to undress. You see, there’s no place to undress—I mean, no privacy. And I was just about to pull my blouse off when in comes Chilblaines. Well, I about fell over, because he was the one man on this ship whom I hoped never to meet in that bathroom. I saluted him and began to button up my blouse, as if I had just been washing my face or something. He looked at me a moment after returning the salute, then stepped into one of the boxes and snapped the latch. I tucked my towel away again and departed. About an hour later I got away from the General again and made a third attempt. This time I determined to take no chances. I locked myself in the shower and stripped for action. Then I couldn’t decide what to do with my clothes. If I left them inside, they’d get all wet. If I put them outside, it would arouse suspicion, because the officers who use these showers leave their clothes in their staterooms and come down in slickers or overcoats. Finally I decided that the only place my clothes could go was up on top of the pipes at the back of the box, and there I put them. I didn’t know for sure whether anyone outside could see them there or not, but I couldn’t waste time trying to find out. I just turned on that wonderful warm water and proceeded to revel in its downpour. Just as I got myself nicely lathered up, someone rattles the door and gives me the scare of my young life. A gruff old voice says, “Who’s there?” And I looked through the crack under the door and saw two enormous bare feet. What in the devil was I supposed to do? Let him come in and share the bath? The feet padded around into the next box and I expected any moment to see a head stick up over the partition. But instead I heard him swear at something and then he said, “How long will you be in there?” I had to say something, so I dropped my voice to as low a pitch as I could manage and still make my words carry. “About ten minutes—” I almost said “sir” from force of habit. “This other shower’s out of order,” he grumbled and padded away. I continued my bath. Rinsed thoroughly. Lathered all over again. Rinsed again. Turned off the water and made a hurry job of drying myself. Believe me, I could pass a fireman’s dressing test after getting into my clothes as fast as I did this afternoon. I was proud of myself. And I was clean! Thank God I was pure again, within and without—and another difficulty had been surmounted, with credit and satisfaction.