"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." "What of it?" "My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are--this apartment, an automobile--Oh, as for you, it's all very well for you! You have ten thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself." Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion at the renunciation he would have to make. "No--it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly impossible, I can't afford it." De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's face. Then he questioned abruptly: "What is your income--now?" "What do you mean by _now_?" "Fifteen thousand a year?" "It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor. De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy. "My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been fifteen thousand--quite right, quite so; but--now, my dear boy, you are too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?" "No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended." "Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I--" "No, go on."