“Yes, and there may be suckers there. Ugh! fancy one of those things getting one of his eight legs, all over suckers, round you, and trying to pull you into his hole.”
“Take out your knife and cut the arm off. They’re not legs.”
“I don’t know what they are: just as much legs as arms. They walk on ’em. Might be lobsters and crabs, too, as big as we are. Think of one of them giving you a nip!”
“Wish he would,” said Vince, with a grin. “We’d soon have him out and cook him.”
“Couldn’t,” said Mike. “Take too big a pot.”
“Then we’d roast him; and, I say, fancy asking Jemmy Carnach down to dinner!”
“Yes,” cried Mike, joining in the laugh. “He’d eat till his eyes would look lobstery too, and your father would have to give him such a dose.”
“It don’t want my father to cure Jemmy Carnach when he’s ill,” said Vince scornfully. “I could do that easy enough.”
“And how would you do it, old clever?”
“Tie him up for two or three days without anything to eat. Pst! Hear that?”