Kenneth came up and found himself face to face with an enormous fish who had round staring eyes and a mouth that opened and shut continually. It opened square like a kit-bag, and it shut with an extremely sour and severe expression like that of an offended rhinoceros.
‘Yes,’ said the Carp, ‘you are a new fish. Who put you in?’
‘I fell in,’ said Kenneth, ‘out of the boat, [p251 but I’m not a fish at all, really I’m not. I’m a boy, but I don’t suppose you’ll believe me.’
‘Why shouldn’t I believe you?’ asked the Carp wagging a slow fin. ‘Nobody tells untruths under water.’
And if you come to think of it, no one ever does.
‘Tell me your true story,’ said the Carp very lazily. And Kenneth told it.
‘Ah! these humans!’ said the Carp when he had done. ‘Always in such a hurry to think the worst of everybody!’ He opened his mouth squarely and shut it contemptuously. ‘You’re jolly lucky, you are. Not one boy in a million turns into a fish, let me tell you.’
‘Do you mean that I’ve got to go on being a fish?’ Kenneth asked.
‘Of course you’ll go on being a fish as long as you stop in the water. You couldn’t live here, you know, if you weren’t.’
‘I might if I was an eel,’ said Kenneth, and thought himself very clever.