"But where--" began Ned, still lost in surprise.

"My dear Ned, I have borrowed from the fakir. It was not quite a nice
job," he went on, in answer to Ned's astonished look, "but it's over now,
and we need not say any more about it. The hair and rags are disgustingly
filthy, there is no doubt about that. Their late owner never used a comb,
and was otherwise beastly in his habits; still, old man, that cannot be
helped, and if you like, when we once get out of the town, we can put them
in water for twenty-four hours, or make a sort of oven, and bake them to
get rid of their inhabitants. Our lives are at stake, Ned, and we must not
mind trifles."

"Right, old boy," Ned said, making a great effort to overcome his first
sensation of disgust. "As you say, it is a trifle. You have hit upon a
superb idea, Dick, superb; and I think you have saved our lives from what
seemed a hopeless scrape. But what is your other disguise?"

"This," Dick said, lifting the bear's skin. "I can get into this, and if
we travel at night, so that I can walk upright, for I never could travel
far on all-fours, I should pass well enough, as I could lie curled up by
your side in the daytime, and no one will ask a holy fakir any troublesome
questions. I don't think you could get into the skin, Ned, or I would
certainly take the fakir for choice; for it will be awfully hot in this
skin."

"I don't mind doing the fakir a bit," Ned said. "Fortunately the sun has
done his work, and the color of our skins can be hidden by a good coat of
dirt, which will look as natural as possible. Now let us set about it at
once."