"You turn to the right," answered his Majesty patiently, with a gesture that way, "follow your nose, mount a hill north of the Fore Head, and there you are. See?"
The Twins couldn't think what answer to make—though he seemed to expect one—so they gave a little nervous laugh.
"Just see, there's a dear boy," said the Fish-King kindly, in order to change the subject—"just see if you've got a copy of the Financial Market about you, will you? Or maybe you know what the Financial Time is? That would do quite as well. Oh, beg pardon—I see you've no watch on; pawnbroken, eh?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean; I've never heard of all that," admitted Cyril.
"But you have heard there's been another slump!"
"What?" ventured Dulcie.
"In what? Why, in Seaweed, of course. Just my luck. Fishy transactions never do pay, though they always promise to. But," he added, rousing himself, dismal still, "you must both come down soon and have a cup of sea or something—it's my birthday, and there's going to be jinks below."
"Birthday! How delightful!" said Dulcie.
"Why, how old can you possibly be?" asked Cyril, "if it's not impolite to ask."
"Quite right. Let me see," said the Fish-King thoughtfully. "Ah, now I remember. I'm just several millions of years—it takes a little time to fix the number exactly—and eleven days."