home from the laboratory, visited him uninvited in his rooms, invited him to supper at his restaurant, which Wilhelm twice declined, the third time, however, he had not the courage to refuse.  In spite of this Barinskoi would not see that his invitation was only accepted out of politeness.  There were many things reserved and unsociable about Barinskoi; for example, he never invited any one to his rooms.  He called for his letters at the post office.  The address he gave, and under which he was entered at the University office, described him as a newspaper correspondent, which agreed with his daily readings and writings.  He frequently disappeared for two or three days, after which he emerged again, as it were, dirtier than before, with reddened, half-closed eyelids, weak voice, and general bloodless appearance.  A conjecture as to where he was during this time was suggested by a smell of spirits, beside the fact that students from the laboratory had often seen him late at night at the corner of the Leipziger and Friedrichstrasse in earnest consultation with some unhappy creature of the streets, and that he was often seen haunting remote streets in the eastern districts in the company of women.

Barinskoi declared he was the correspondent of a large St. Petersburg paper, and that he made great efforts to remove the prejudices of Russia against Germany, and to give his readers a respect for their great neighbors.  By chance one day Wilhelm read the page of Berlin correspondence, and found that from first to last it was full of poisoned abuse, insult, and calumination of Berlin and its inhabitants.  At the next opportunity he put it before Barinskoi’s eyes without a word.  He started a little, but said directly, quite calmly:  Yes, he had read the letter too; naturally it was not by him; the paper had other correspondents, who hated Germans, he could do no more than put a stop to their lies, and find out the reality of their misrepresentations.

Early in this short acquaintance it was clear that Barinskoi was in constant money difficulties.  By his own representations the paper paid him very irregularly, and the most curious accidents constantly occurred to prevent the arrival of the expected payments.  Once the money was sent by mistake to the Constantinople correspondent, and it was six weeks before the oversight was cleared up.  Another time a fellow-writer who was traveling to Berlin undertook to bring the money with him.  On the way he lost the money out of his pocket-book, and Barinskoi had to wait until he went back to St. Petersburg, to inquire into the case.  By such fool’s stories was Wilhelm’s friendship put to the proof.  Barinskoi did not stop at borrowing money occasionally, with sighs and groans, but every few days, often at a few hours’ interval, a new and larger loan would frequently follow.