He smiled.
“No, no; don’t you know that fish require plenty of air?”
“Yes, I’ve heard something of the kind, and that if a pond is frozen over, and the ice is not broken, the fish die.”
“Exactly, for want of air. Look at those fish in that trough.”
“Yes, they’re hungry,” I said, for in one corner a number of them were putting their mouths nearly out of the water, and opening and shutting them.
“No, they want air; there is not enough in the water. Now you’ll see.”
He thrust the nozzle of the bellows beneath the surface, and began puffing away till the water boiled and bubbled and was covered with foam, while after the first few puffs the fish swam about more vigorously and left the surface.
“There, you see,” he said, “there is plenty of air now,” and he served the other troughs the same. “Now, look here, Alison Dale,” he said, as he replaced the bellows, and locked the box, “I’ll leave the key behind this trough, and if you would not mind, I should be greatly obliged if you would give the fish a little air now and then just to help me, for I should dearly like to keep the poor things alive.”
“Oh yes,” I said, “I’ll do it whenever I have a chance, but I don’t quite understand; I thought fish breathed water.”
“With air in it. If there is no air to mingle with the water, the fish soon die.”