"It's easy to be a brick, my boy, if it involves no more than the changing of a single letter in one's name. I'd like to attend the convention, anyway," said Brock amiably.
"Well, you see, Brock," said Medcroft lamely, "I fear you don't quite appreciate the situation. I want you to pose as Roxbury Medcroft."
"You—What do you mean?"
"I thought you'd find that a facer. That's just it: you are to go to Vienna as Roxbury Medcroft, not as yourself. Ha, ha! Ripping, eh?"
"'Pon my soul, Rox, you are not in earnest?"
"Never more so."
"But, my dear fellow—"
"You won't do it? That's what your tone means," in despair.
"It isn't that, and you know it. I've got nothing to lose. It's you that will have to suffer. You're known all over Europe. What will be said when the trick is discovered? 'Gad, man!"
"Then you will go?" with beaming eyes. "I knew it would appeal to you, as an American."