“Do you mean to say that I could go to Newchwang whenever I liked by your line?” I continued to my neighbour.
“Certainly you could,” he replied, draining his glass, which I had taken care had not stood idle during our conversation. Wine in, wit out, I thought.
“Well, in that case,” said I, “I will cancel my passage by steamer and start by rail from here to‐morrow.”
“Eh? Oh! You are serious? You really wish to go by train?” he stammered, taken aback.
“Yes; I shall telegraph to the Steamship Company at Tientsin in the morning, and start by the first train I can get.”
For a second my friend seemed disconcerted. The other Russians had been following our conversation with interest. Suddenly sobered, my neighbour spoke to them in a low tone; and a muttered colloquy took place. Then he turned again to me and said, with a smile of innocent regret—
“I am so sorry. It would be impossible for you to start so soon. The railway has been breached in several places by floods, and three bridges have been washed away. The line is broken and all traffic suspended. It is most unfortunate.”
I realised that I had caught my Tartar.
“How soon do you think I could travel?” I asked.
“Oh, not for several days, I am afraid,” was the answer, in a tone of deep sympathy for my disappointment. “The repairs will take some time as the damage is extensive.”