During our walk to my lodgings Peterkin hurriedly stated his “plan and proposal,” which caused Jack to laugh very much at first, but in a few minutes he became grave, and said slowly, “That will just suit—it will do exactly.”
“What will do exactly? Do be more explicit, man,” said Peterkin, with some impatience.
“I’ll go with you, my boy.”
“Will you?” cried Peterkin, seizing his hand and shaking it violently; “I knew you would. I said it; didn’t I, Ralph? And now we shall be sure of a gorilla, if there’s one in Africa, for I’ll use you as a stalking-horse.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Jack.
“Yes; I’ll put a bear-skin or some sort of fur on your shoulders, and tie a lady’s boa to you for a tail, and send you into the woods. The gorillas will be sure to mistake you for a relative until you get quite close; then you’ll take one pace to the left with the left foot (as the volunteers say), I’ll take one to the front with the right—at fifty yards, ready—present—bang, and down goes the huge puggy with a bullet right between its two eyes! There. And Ralph’s agreed to go too.”
“O Peterkin, I’ve done nothing of the sort. You proposed it.”
“Well, and isn’t that the same thing? I wonder, Ralph that you can give way to such mean-spirited prevarication. What? ‘It’s not prevarication!’ Don’t say that now; you know it is. Ah! you may laugh, my boy, but you have promised to go with me and Jack to Africa, and go you shall.”
And so, reader, it was ultimately settled, and in the course of two weeks more we three were on our way to the land of the slave, the black savage, and the gorilla.