There was nothing especially worthy of note at any of the landings, beyond the peculiar windmills, except at Gorodetz, which is renowned for the manufacture of spice-cakes, so the guide-book said.  I watched anxiously for Gorodetz, went ashore, and bought the biggest “spice-cake” I could find from an old woman on the wharf.  All the other passengers landed for the same purpose, and the old woman did a rushing business.  After taking a couple of mouthfuls, I decided that I was unable to appreciate the merits of my cake, as I had been, after repeated efforts, to appreciate those of a somewhat similar concoction known under the name of “Vyazemsky.”  So I gave the cake to the grateful stewardess, and went out on deck to look at a ray of sunlight.

“Where’s your cake?” asked a stern voice at my elbow.  The speaker was a man with long hair and beard, dressed like a peasant, in a conical fur cap and a sheepskin coat, though his voice, manner, and general appearance showed that he belonged to the higher classes.  Perhaps he was an “adept” of Count Tolstoy, and was merely masquerading in that costume, which was very comfortable, though it was only September.

“I gave it to the stewardess,” I answered meekly, being taken by surprise.

“What!  Didn’t you eat it?  Don’t you know, madam, that these spice-cakes are renowned for their qualities all over Russia, and are even carried to the remotest parts of Siberia and of China, also, I believe, in great quantities? [He had got ahead of the guide-book in that last particular!] Why didn’t you eat it?”

“It did not taste good; and besides, I was afraid of indigestion.  It seemed never to have been cooked, unless by exposure to the sun, and it was soggy and heavy as lead.  You know there has been a great deal of rain lately, and what sun we have even now is very pale and weak, hardly adapted to baking purposes.”

This seemed to enrage my hairy mentor, and he poured out a volume of indignant criticism, reproach, and ejaculations, all tangled up with fragments of cookery receipts, though evidently not the receipt for the Gorodetz cakes, which is a secret.  The other passengers listened in amazement and delight.  When he paused for breath, I remarked:—­

“Well, I don’t see any harm in having bestowed such a delicate luxury on the poor stewardess.  Did any of you think to buy a cake for her?  And why not?  I denied myself to give her pleasure.  Look at it in that light for a while, sir, if my bad taste offends you.  And, in the mean while, tell me what has inspired you with the taste to dress like a peasant?”