I afterwards made the acquaintance of two men in the next compartment; they were dock labourers and their business was to load ships in Kronstadt. They were exactly like the people whom Gorki describes. One of them gave me a complete description of his mode of life in summer and winter. In summer he loaded ships; in winter he went to a place near Archangel and loaded carts with wood; when the spring came he went back, by water, to St. Petersburg. He asked me what I was. I said that I was an English correspondent. He asked then what I travelled in. I said I was not that kind of correspondent but a newspaper correspondent. Here he called a third friend, who was sitting near us, and said, “Come and look; there is a correspondent here. He is an English correspondent.” The friend came--a man with a red beard and a loose shirt with a pattern of flowers on it. “I don’t know you,” said the new man. “No; but let us make each other’s acquaintance,” I said. “You can talk to him,” explained the dock labourer; “we have been talking for hours. Although he is plainly a man who has received higher education.” “As to whether he has received higher or lower education we don’t know,” said the friend, “because we haven’t yet asked him.” Then he paused, reflected, shook hands, and exclaimed: “Now we know each other.” “But,” said the dock labourer, “how do you print your articles? Do you take a printing press with you when you go, for instance, to the north like you are doing now?” I remarked that they were printed in London, and that I did not have to print them myself. “Please send me one,” he said; “I will give you my address.” “But it’s written in English,” I answered. “You can send me a translation in Russian,” he retorted.