The streets, however, presented a busy appearance. They were thronged with soldiers. Battalions of recruits passed along, and it was evident that Tippoo was doing all in his power to raise the strength of his army to its former level. They wandered about for some time, and at last, in a small street, Dick went up to an old man whose face pleased him. He was standing at the door of his house.
"We desire to find a room where we can lodge for a time," he said. "Can you direct us where we can obtain one?"
"You are not soldiers?" the old man asked.
"No. We desire to earn our living, but have not yet decided whether to join the army."
"You are from the plains?" the native said sharply, in their own dialect.
"That is so," Dick replied.
"And yet you are Mohammedans?"
"Every one is Mohammedan here."
"Ah! Because it is the choice of 'death or Mohammed.' How comes it that two young men should voluntarily leave their homes to enter this tiger's den? You look honest youths. How come you here?"
"I trust that we are honest," Dick said. "We have assuredly not ventured here without a reason, and that reason is a good one; but this is not a city where one talks of such matters to a stranger in the street, even though his face tells one that he can be trusted with a secret."