“’Cept when he comes up to feed,” growled Captain Chubb. “This ’ere one was hard at work in that shoal of fish.”
“I don’t see that that interferes with my argument, Captain Chubb,” said the doctor; “but what I was going on to say was this. There was a time in the history of this earth, when just such creatures as my nephew here described used to be plentiful.”
“How long ago?” asked the skipper.
“Ah, that’s more than any one of us can say; but I have seen their remains turned to stone, laid bare in a stone quarry—that is to say, their skeletons, which show pretty well what must have been their shape; and if they existed once there is no reason why some of their descendants, though very rarely seen, may not still survive, though I am half afraid that my nephew here must have some half-forgotten lingering memories of one of these creatures that he has seen in some geological work, and upon seeing that fish or reptile let his imagination run riot and finished it off by memory.”
Rodd shook his head.
“I saw it plainly enough, uncle.”
And the skipper gave his head a sapient nod, while the doctor shook his.
“What were you going to say, Captain Chubb?”
“Only this ’ere, sir. I have ’eard more argufying and quarrelling about sea-sarpints than about almost anything else. I say sarpints, but I mean these things, and I say this. It will never be settled properly till one of ’em is caught—which aren’t likely—or one of them is cast ashore so as everybody can see fair and square. I believe in ’em, and I’ve good reason to.”
“So do I, uncle,” cried Rodd.