“But it was a monster.”
“Yes: two inches short of seven feet long, and as big round as a cod-fish; and I don’t see why there mayn’t be some twice as big in the Scraw. But I’m not going to believe in there being anything else, Mike; and we’re going to see.”
“Nothing horrid living in the caves?”
“Bogies and mermen and Goblin Jacks? No: stuff!”
“But up the cliff: you don’t think there’s anything there that makes it so that you can’t go? I mean—”
“Dragons like father has in that old Latin book about Switzerland?”
“Yes; you’ve got pictures of them,—horrid things with wings, that lived in the mountains and passes.”
“All gammon!” cried Vince. “People used to believe in all kinds of nonsense—magicians, and fiery serpents and dragons, and things that we laugh about now. There, one can’t help feeling a bit shrinky, after all we’ve heard and been frightened with by people ever since we were little bits of chaps; but I mean to go. There’s nothing worse about the Scraw than there is about other dangerous places.”
“Ah! you say so now because it’s broad daylight and the sun shines, but you’d talk differently if it was dark as pitch.”
“Shouldn’t go if it was dark as pitch, because we shouldn’t know where we were going. I say, you’re not going to turn tail?”