"Whither?"
"To the mountains."
Harkaway looked frightened at this.
"Not to trust yourself in the brigands' clutches?"
"I mean to beard the tigers in their lair," echoed Dick firmly; "not a word, Jack," he added, as he saw Harkaway about to interrupt him, "not a word; the worthy Richard Harvey will not go, but his spirit in another skin will go."
"You are never going to trust yourself in a disguise."
"I am."
"Why, Dick, old friend, were you that unhappy man Protean Bob himself, Hunston would penetrate your disguise; the eye of hate—"
"Nonsense. If I were Protean Bob, Hunston would be too glad not to recognise me."
"Perhaps."