"Fleet prison! Fleet fiddlestick! No. You have never been in Russia.
Why should we not go there both? My Paris friend, Madame Caumartin, was
going to Italy, but her plans are changed, and she is now all for St.
Petersburg. She will wait a few days for you to get well. We will all
go together and enjoy ourselves. The Russians dote upon whist. We shall
get into their swell sets and live like princes." Therewith Jasper
launched forth on the text of Russian existence in such glowing terms
that Dolly Poole shut his aching eyes and fancied himself sledging down
the Neva, covered with furs; a countess waiting for him at dinner, and
counts in dozens ready to offer bets to a fabulous amount that Jasper
Losely lost the rubber.

Having lifted his friend into this region of aerial castles, Jasper then,
descending into the practical world, wound up with the mournful fact that
one could not get to St. Petersburg, nor when there into swell sets,
without having some little capital on hand.

"I tell you what we will do. Madame Caumartin lives in prime style. Get
old Latham, your employer, to discount her bill at three months' date for
L500, and we will be all off in a crack." Poole shook his head. "Old
Latham is too knowing a file for that. A foreigner! He'd want
security."

"I'll be security."

Dolly shook his head a second time, still more emphatically than the
first.

"But you say he does discount paper,--gets rich on it?"