Ruth Djirloff, my secretary, waked me up by telephoning to me that it was twenty of seven. I do dislike that Americanism “of” especially when I am not awake and I have to make a special effort to remember if “of” means before or after. Having roused myself to the realization that it was twenty to seven, I waked Louise, who got some breakfast for me. I did not wake Dick and was rather glad that his sleeping gave me an excuse not to say goodbye to him. It is easier so. I have left them all alone in the flat, just those two. If Louise died in the night how would anybody know, and how would Dick get out or make anyone hear? These are not things to think of. Providence will, I know, take care of me to the end. We drove to a railway station that was like an opera house and heated. What civilization--! I should think the poor would come in there to get out of the cold. Perhaps they’re not allowed; or perhaps like me, they prefer air. We caught the 8:05 train to Pittsburgh. A ten hour journey. The train was very comfortable and I slept most of the way and ate nothing, being thankful for the rest from food. I read most of “Men and Steel” by Mary Heaton Vorse, published by my publisher. It is very powerful, and conveys its force through its great simplicity and crispness of style. It impressed me tremendously but I wished I had not read it as it forms my judgment for me before I even arrive. These are some of the facts: “72% of all steel workers are below the level set by government experts as minimum of comfort level set for families of five,” which means that three-quarters of the steel workers cannot earn enough for an American standard of living. “In 1919 the undivided surplus was $493,048,201.93, or $13,000,000 more than the total wage and salary expenditures” of the U. S. Steel Corporation. I cannot take in economics; if I discussed this with a capitalist I should have refuting statistics thrown at my head and I wouldn’t take it in. But I wonder why it is, that, crudely and ignorantly, I always feel the workers’ point of view, rather than the employers. At 6:50, on my arrival, I was received by Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and their son, who are managers in the firm of Heinz Pickles, 57 varieties! Emil Fuchs, who is doing a Heinz memorial, told them I was coming. They had a car and drove me to the William Penn Hotel. I refused their invitation to dinner as I felt rather tired. After dinner some reporters came to see me in my room. Oh, I am so weary of the same questions about Lenin and Trotzky! I wish I dared tell them what I really think. FEBRUARY 15, 1921.