“Here we are at the station,” said Jack at this juncture. “In the future we’ll do all our talking in German or French—French while we believe we are among friends, and German at other times. English is dangerous.”
Frank nodded his understanding.
“I’ll get the tickets,” he said.
He took from his pocket a roll of bills and extracted one he felt sure—he couldn’t tell positively for he knew almost nothing of Russian money—was sufficient to pay for two tickets, and approaching the window said “Two to Moscow” in French. The agent passed out the tickets and Frank tendered the bill. He accepted what change was passed to him without a word and inquired the way to the train. After some little trouble they found themselves in a second-class compartment and settled back in their seats as comfortably as possible.
“And here we shall stay until we get to Moscow,” said Jack. “Then, if something hasn’t turned up, we’ll go straight to the best hotel. We may trust the Czar not to lose sight of us.”
Frank nodded.
“Best plan, I guess,” he agreed.
A short time later the train started. The two lads, much to their relief, found they were to have no fellow travelers in their compartment. They conversed in low tones until the conductor came for their tickets, but once that worthy had taken his departure, Frank said:
“Well, it’s a long ride, and not knowing what is in store for us at the other end, I vote we try and catch forty winks.”
“I’m with you,” declared Jack.