"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you." Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated gaiety. "By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off just as we did in the old days--good days, those. We knocked about a bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?" Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said: "Last night--only last night! Is it possible?" "Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?" "No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay--happy." "Quite right. California?" "No, no, I want to get away, out of the country--far away." Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer--a memory of earlier days. "By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out--Morocco--the very thing!" Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he indistinctly saw, muttered: "Something far away--away from people." "By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned it seven years ago. IMMENSE!" "I don't care--anywhere." De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas. "My boy--the best thing in the world. Set you right up--terrific air, smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, "M-M-M--Morocco." 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?"