"I have none," Billy replied. "Rita will perhaps furnish both the plan and the girl."
Dic did not relish the suggestion that Rita would be willing to take so active a part in the transaction, and said:—
"I fear you do not know Rita. She is not bold enough to do what you hope. If she will come with us, it will be all I can expect. We must do the planning."
"You say she offered to come with you?" asked Billy.
"Y-e-s," responded Dic, hesitatingly; "but she is the most timid of girls, and we shall need to be very persuasive if—"
Billy laughed and interrupted him: "All theory, Dic; all theory and wrong. 'Deed, if I knew you were such a fool! The gentlest and most guileless of women are the bravest and boldest under the stress of a great motive. The woman who is capable of great love is sure also to have the capacity for great courage. I know Rita better than you suppose, and, mark my words, she will furnish both the plan and the girl; and if you grow supercilious, egad! I'll take her myself."
"I'll not grow supercilious. She is perfect, and anything she'll do will be all right. I can't believe she is really to be mine. It seems more like a castle in the air than a real fact."
"It is not a fact yet," returned Billy, croakingly; "and if this trip doesn't make it a fact, I venture to prophesy you will have an untenanted aerial structure on your hands before long."
"You don't believe anything of the sort, Billy Little," said Dic. "I can't lose her. It couldn't happen. It couldn't."
"We'll see. There's the stage horn. Let us hurry out and get an inside seat. The sky looks overcast, and I shouldn't like to have this coat rained upon. There's a fine piece of cloth, Dic. Feel it." Dic complied. "Soft as silk, isn't it?" continued Billy. "They don't make such cloth in these days of flimsy woolsey. Got it thirty years ago from the famous Schwitzer on Cork Street. Tailor shop there for ages. Small shop—dingy little hole, but that man Schwitzer was an artist. Made garments for all the beaux. Brummel used to draw his own patterns in that shop—in that very shop, Dic. Think of wearing a coat made by Brummel's tailor. Remarkable man that, Brummel—George Bryan Brummel. Good head, full of good brains. Son of a confectioner; friend of a prince. Upon one occasion the Prince of Wales wept because Brummel made sport of his coat. Yes, egad! blubbered. I used to know him well. Knew the 'First Gentleman' of Europe, too, the Prince of Wales. Won a thousand and eleven pounds from Brummel one night at whist. He paid the eleven and still owes the thousand. Had a letter from him less than a year ago, saying he hoped to pay me some day; but bless your soul, Dic, he'll never be able to pay a farthing. He's in France now, because he owes nearly every one in England. Fine gentleman, though, fine gentleman, every inch of him. Well, this coat was made by his tailor. You don't blame me for taking good care of it, do you?"