“No,” I said; “but there’s a big hole here. Perhaps there’s another conger.”
“Put your hand in and pull him out, then,” cried Bob with a sneer.
I did not answer, for I felt now very plainly how much easier it is to give orders than to obey them. But a little consideration taught me that there was nothing to fear, for if there was a conger in the hole the chances were that he would have thrust his head into the farthest corner, and that it would be his tail that I should touch.
“Now, then,” cried Bob. “Ar’n’t you going to find any more prawns?”
“I don’t know,” I said, as I carefully introduced my hand and arm, going down on one knee so as to get closer, and so by degrees hand, arm, and shoulder had nearly disappeared, as I touched the far end of the cleft.
“Nothing,” I said to myself, as I felt about with my cheek touching the wet slippery sea-weed. Then I uttered a loud “Ugh!” and started away.
“What’s the matter?” cried my companions.
“I don’t know,” I cried. “Here’s something alive in a hole here.”
“Well, why don’t you pull it out?” cried Bob.
“I—I don’t know,” I said. But I’m afraid I did know. The feeling, though, that my companions were laughing at me was too much, and with a sudden burst of energy I thrust my hand right into the rift again, felt down cautiously till my hand touched, not the slimy serpentine form of an eel, but the hard back of a shell-fish, and as I touched it, there was a curious scuffling down beneath my fingers that told me it was a crab.