(FROM THE DIARY OF A REPORTER)
I
“Be in N-sk on the twentieth. Session of district court. Details in
letter. Editor.”
I looked at my watch and then went to inquire about the trains. I hoped
that I could not catch the night train at the station, which was some
ten versts from the city where I had just finished another piece of
reporting. I saw already the laconic and business-like answer: “Telegram
delayed, cannot arrive on twentieth.” Unfortunately the time-table and
my watch decided differently. I had three hours to pack and get to the
station. That was time enough.
About 11 o’clock on a warm summer evening a coachman landed me at the
station; the lights could be seen for a great distance. I got there just
in time; the train was waiting.
Directly opposite the entrance there was a car with the windows open. It
was not filled and some intelligent-appearing men were playing cards.
I imagined that they were members of the court going to the session,
and I decided to look for a place elsewhere. This was no easy task but
I finally succeeded. The train was just starting when, with my bag in
my hand, I entered a second-class compartment in which there were three
passengers.
I sat down by the window, through which entered the freshness of the
summer night, and soon there were flying past me ends of sleepers, hills,
roaring bridges, buildings, fields bathed in the moonlight,—all as if
carried by a high wind. I was tired and sad. I thought how my life was
flying in the same way, from bridge to bridge, from station to station,
from city to city, from fire to law court.... And that I could never
write for any paper what the editor wanted. And all that I would write
the next day would be dry and uninteresting.
These were not cheerful thoughts. I tore myself away from them and began
to listen to the conversation of my fellow travelers.