Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, saying, “Anywhere, anywhere.”

“Back into harness again—­the old camping days—­immense.”

“I must get away.”

“There you are,” said De Gollyer at length.  With a deft movement he slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, “Morocco, devilish smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds.”

“Yes, yes.”

“You remember how we planned it,” continued De Gollyer, artfully blundering; “boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez.”

At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some irritation, “No, no, down the coast first.”

“I beg your pardon,” said De Gollyer; “to Fez, my dear fellow.”

“My dear boy, I know!  Down the coast to Rabat.”

“Ah, now, you’re sure?  I think—­”

“And I know,” said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of his hand.  “I ought to know my own plan.”

“Yes, yes,” said De Gollyer, to egg him on.  “Still you’re thoroughly convinced about that, are you?”

“Of course, I am!  My dear Jim—­come, isn’t this my pet idea—­the one trip I’ve dreamed over, the one thing in the world I’ve longed to do, all my life?” His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously to stab the atlas.  “We go to Rabat.  We go to Magazam, and we cut—­so—­long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to Fez, so!”

This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect.  He looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity.

“Well, well—­you may be right.  You always are impressive, you know.”

“Right?  Of course I’m right,” continued Lightbody, unaware of his friend’s critical contemplation.  “Haven’t I worked out every foot of it?”

“A bit of a flyer in the game country, then?  Topple over a rhino or so.  Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!”

“By George, think of it—­a chance at one of the brutes!”

When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend’s eyes, the imps returned, ironically tumbling back.  He slapped him on the shoulder as Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, “Immense!”

“You know, Jim,” said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert, speaking in quick, eager accents, “it’s what I’ve dreamed of—­a chance at one of the big beggars.  By George, I have, all my life!”

“We’ll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing.”

“By George, just think of it.”

“In style, my boy—­we’ll own the whole continent, buy it up!”

“The devil!”

“What’s the matter?”

Lightbody’s mood had suddenly dropped.  He half pushed back his chair and frowned.  “It’s going to be frightfully extravagant.”