ch are now worth about a cent to the dollar. Because
the Russian people--already dead sick of the war with Japan--have risen
in a howling mob against their government. See?"

"I did hear of that," said the painter among us. "A Polish chap in the
studio said something about it yesterday."

"Now, did he?" said the ironical Joe. "Just kind of murmured it, I
suppose, while bending reverently over his art." He rose. "Well, boys,
I'm sorry for you, but I've only got a day in this town, I'm off for
Russia on the night train. Bill, I wish you'd help me here. I've got an
awful lot to do and my French is still a little weak."

It was not at all weak, it was strong and loud. I can hear it still, Joe
Kramer's French, and it is a fitting memory of that devastating day.

The day began so splendidly, so big with promise of great ideas. I grew
quite excited about it. Here was Joe on his way to a real revolution.
Sent out by his Chicago paper, he was going to Russia to see a whole
people fight to be free--a struggle prophesied long ago by Turgenief,
Tolstoy and other big Russians whose work I admired. And now it was
actually coming off--and Joe, the lucky devil, was going to be right on
hand! From some mysterious source in New York he had secured a letter to
a Russian revolutionist leader who for many years had been an exile here
in Paris. Joe was anxious to see him at once.

"All right," I said eagerly. "Give me his address."

"Hold on," J. K. retorted. "It's not so easy as all that. I want to get
into Russia. This man's house in Paris is watched day and night by the
Russian secret police, and nobody who's seen with him has a chance of
crossing the frontier. We've got to go slow."

"What'll we do?"

"I want you to steer me first to a Frenchman. He's an anarchist. Here's
his address."

The anarchist was a bit disappointing. A mild little man, we found him
in an attic room receiving a vigorous scolding from the huge blonde with
whom he lived. But after reading Joe's letter, he, too, took on a
mysterious air. He came with us in our cab, and off we went over Paris
until I thought we should never end. Again and again the cab would stop
and our guide would darkly disappear. But from one of these trips he
returned triumphant.

"I have found his wife," he announced. "But she says she must have a
look at you first." The cab rattled off, and the next stop was in front
of a public library.

"Now," said our guide, "go in and sit down