"It is a fact. Dunshunner, this infernal tampering with the currency will be the ruin of every mother's son of us!"--and here Bob, in a fit of indignant enthusiasm, commenced a vivid harangue upon the principles of contraction and expansion, bullion, the metallic standard, and the bank reserves, which no doubt was extremely sound, but which I shall not recapitulate to the reader. "That's all very well, Bob," said I--"very good in theory, but we should confine ourselves at present to practice. The main question seems to me to be this. How are we to get out of our present fix? I presume you are not at present afflicted with a remarkable plethory of cash?" "Every farthing I have in the world is locked up in a falling line." "Any debts?" "Not many; but quite enough to make me meditate a temporary retirement to Boulogne." "I believe you are better off than I am. I not only owe money, but am terribly bothered about some bills." "That's awkward. Would it not be advisable to bolt?" "I don't think so. You used to tell me, Bob, that credit was the next best thing to capital. Now, I don't despair of redeeming my capital yet, if I can only keep up my credit." "Right, undoubtedly, as you generally are. Do you know, Dunshunner, you deserve credit for your notions on political economy. But how is that to be done? Every body is realising; the banks won't discount; and when your bills become due, they will be, to a dead certainty, protested." "Well--and what then?" "_Squalor carceris_, etcetera." "Hum--an unpleasant alternative, certainly. Come, Bob I put your wits to work. You used to be a capital hand for devices, and there must be some way or other of steering clear. Time is all we want." "Ay, to be sure--time is the great thing. It would be very unpleasant to look out on the world through a grating during the summer months!" "I perspire at the bare idea!" "Not a soul in town--all your friends away in the Highlands boating, or fishing, or shooting grouse--and you pent up in a stifling apartment of eight feet square, with nobody to talk to save the turnkey, and no prospect from the window, except a deserted gooseberry stall!" "O Bob, don't talk in that way! You make me perfectly miserable." "And all this for a ministerial currency crotchet? 'Pon my soul, it's too bad! I wish those fellows in Parliament----" "Well? Go on." "By Jove! I've an idea at last!" "You don't say so! My dear Bob--out with it!" "Dunshunner, are you a man of pluck?" "I should think I am." "And ready to go the whole hog, if required?" "The entire animal." "Then I'll tell you what it is--the elections will be on immediately--and, by St Andrew, we'll put you up for Parliament!" "Me!" "You. Why not? There are hundreds of men there quite as hard up, and not half so clever as yourself." "And what good would that do me?"