“A very poor imitative effort on your part,” said Doctor Sims caustically. “It was just a sort of sample,” Doctor Trigg defended his effort. “I will be willing to wager one of these excellent doughnuts that these young men, collectively, have never read six epitaphs in their lives.” “I haven’t,” confessed David, his sunny smile full on Doctor Sims’ gloomy countenance. “I bet they are interesting. You could sure get a kick out of some of them. Like collecting stamps.” “Much more enthralling, much more appealing.” Doctor Sims pushed back his teacup and book. “It’s like this: Paleontologists have found that from the most remote antiquity—” Doctor Trigg interrupted. “Nicholas,” he said, “it is a pity to embark on a subject of such widespread interest at so inauspicious a moment, when you will certainly be obliged to discontinue your discourse before you have voiced a tenth of your thesis. Let me advise you to reserve your dissertation for a time when these young men will have finished their duties and be free to assure you a couple of hours of uninterrupted attention.” He looked solemnly at the reporter, who looked solemnly back. “That would be better, doctor, if you don’t mind. I’d hate to miss it, and I’ve got to dash off pretty soon, and make out my reports.” Doctor Sims looked almost pleased. “All right, all right, and I will get my recent additions transcribed and cataloged, and the snapshots developed.” “Just where are we, captain?” asked Doctor Trigg, hastily taking up a new subject. David explained. “We must be approaching the border of Russia, now,” he added. They crowded to the window. “What wonderful scenery!” exclaimed the star reporter. “It is growing much wilder and more rugged. Even those plains over there look harsh, and cold.” They watched a gradual change take place and about ten o’clock they saw ahead a city which they knew must be Tilsit, East Prussia. They dipped low, and went slowly over it, while the populace surged out of buildings in black masses. They had been heralded by telegram and radio, and cheers went up, and flags were waved. When they hung over the public square, they dropped a bundle of postcards. Dulcie, hoping some child would pick it up, dropped a handkerchief with an American quarter tied in the corner. Winds continued favorable, even and strong, and due east. They were now going seventy-five miles an hour, and were gradually making up some of the time lost in the storm over the Atlantic. All conditions seemed so kindly that David actually felt nervous. He watched the instruments, and tested the feel of the wheel every few minutes. Luncheon came and went. At about two o’clock, when the passengers were enjoying the passing view, someone exclaimed, “City ahead!” “It is Dvinsk,” said Mr. Hammond. “Friends, we are now crossing the Soviet frontier.” He stood watching until the city, some miles to the right, had disappeared.