CHAPTER XXXIII
THE ROAD TO ZOSTROVEven before we left Riga,--where we were delayed for a couple of days getting our goods through the Customs and on to the train,--I realized somewhat at least of the meaning of Mishka's enigmatic utterance. Not that we experienced any adventures. I suppose I played my part all right as the American mechanic whose one idea was safeguarding the machinery he was in charge of. Anyhow we got through the necessary interviews with truculent officials without much difficulty. Most of them were unable to understand the sort of German I chose to fire off at them, and had to rely on Mishka's services as interpreter. The remarks they passed upon me were not exactly complimentary,--low-grade Russian officials are foul-mouthed enough at the best of times, and now, imag
