“He’s too easy and ready, Dick,” said Murray, throwing off his ordinary merry ways and speaking seriously and with his face full of thought.
“But what does Anderson say to it?”
“He seemed to be suspicious once, but it all passed off, and then the skipper when he heard everything too talked as if he had his doubts. But now he treats it as if it is all right, and we are to follow this American chap wherever he leads us.”
“Yes, to-morrow morning, isn’t it?”
“No, Dick; to-night.”
“To-night—in the dark?”
“I suppose so.”
“Oh!” said Roberts thoughtfully, and he began to shave himself with his finger once more, but without provoking the faintest smile from his companion. “I say, Franky, I don’t like that.”
“No; neither do I, Dick.”
“It does seem like putting ourselves into his hands,” continued Roberts thoughtfully. “Oh, but I don’t know,” he continued, as if snatching at anything that told for the success of the expedition; “you know what Anderson often tells us.”