"I most indeed write." "The post goes at twelve." The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved to the writing-table and toyed with his pen.

A few minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked-- "Vat shall I say ?" "Tell her about your journey across Europe--how the crops look in Russia--what you think of St.Petersburg--that sort of thing." A silent quarter of an hour went by, and then the Baron burst out "Ach, I cannot write to-day! I cannot invent like you.

Ze crops--I have got zat--and zat I arrived safe--and zat Petersburg is nice.

Vat else ?" "Anything you can remember from text-books on Muscovy or illustrated interviews with the Czar.

Just a word or two, don't you know, to show you've been there; with a few comments of your own." "Vat like comments ?" "Such as--'Somewhat annoyed with bombs this afternoon,' or 'This caused me to reflect upon the disadvantages of an alcoholic marine'-- any little bit of philosophy that occurs to you." The Baron pondered.
"It is a pity zat I have not been in Rossia," he observed.
"On the other hand, it is a blessing your wife hasn't.