The friend said nothing. He swam round and round, and looked up at the figure-head through his eye-glass.
“Isn’t she a goddess?” asked our merman, impatiently.
“Goddess!” said the other. “My dear fellow, it’s only wood as sure as you are alive.”
“No merman shall insult me,” said our merman, in a passion.
“Who wants to? Do open your eyes, my dear boy, and see for yourself.”
“I do; I see how she looks at me and holds out her silver vase.”
“She’ll do as much for me,” said his friend, swimming before the ship. Our merman was wild with rage and jealousy, for he could not help seeing that she did. He drew his sword (for he wore one), made of a sword-fish blade, and flew at his friend. “Defend yourself,” he said.
“Nonsense,” said the other. “A likely story, I am going to fight you about a wooden stick. As for looking at me, she’d do the same for any old turtle.”
The merman couldn’t but feel that this was true. But he only grew more angry. He struck his friend with all his might. There was a dark stain on the sea.
“I’m not going to fight you,” said the other, turning very pale, “for you are her brother, but I think you’ll be very sorry for this some time;” and he turned round and swam away as well as he could.