“There!” said the professor to his grandson. “That’s all your fault! What did you let them in for? Open the windows and let in some fresh water, do. Scat! scat! you little torments! I don’t believe the cook has given them their dinner; she never does unless I see to it myself; your sisters forget them. No, I’m not going to the North Seas; I can’t spare the time.”
“Don’t you think you can, sir?” said the young merman. “What odds does it make about those forked creatures on land?”
“Do you know this fellow has the impudence to pretend that they are undeveloped mermen, that they’ll be just like ourselves after a series of ages when their two legs grow into one, and that our ancestors were actually of the same type as those low creatures that go about in ships? But perhaps you agree with him, sir?” said the old professor, with a look that seemed to say that if he did he might expect to be annihilated on the spot.
“Not I, sir. For aught I know we mermen may be undeveloped human beings. I’ve sometimes thought so, I have such a sort of longing for the land.”
“How dare you—?” began the old gentleman in great indignation.
“Come, come, grandfather,” said the young merman, smiling. “You are not angry with me I know; I presume you’ve felt just so yourself.”
The professor was silent, and swam thoughtfully two or three times up and down the room. The two little kitten fish went and sat on his head.
“I won’t say but I have,” he remarked at length, “but it’s best not to mention it. Where do you mean to go for your vacation?”
“I thought I should go North along the coast,” said the young merman. “I can’t help having a curiosity about the land, and if I am in a way to observe any human creatures, I may pick up some facts to support your theory that they are undeveloped walruses.”
“Any one can see that who has ever seen them floundering about in the water,” said the old professor, scornfully.