“But the men drown and the walruses don’t.”
“That’s because the men have not yet acquired the habit of not being drowned,” said the professor. “When are you going?”
“To-morrow, I thought.”
“Very well,” said the professor. “Swim away with you now, and tell the cook to feed these kittens; there they are nibbling the hair off my head.”
The next day the young merman set off on his travels. He bade good-bye to no one but his grandfather and his two sisters. His best friend was away as bearer of despatches to the secretary of state.
“I wish he wouldn’t go near the coast,” said the older sister, wistfully.
“So do I,” said the younger; “I’m afraid for him. But, sister, now honestly, don’t you wish you could see a human creature near enough to speak to?”
“No, not I,” said the elder, who had less of the family traits than any of her relations; “I wish you wouldn’t say such silly things.”
Just as the young merman was going out of the front door, he met a huge lobster coming into it, and without ringing. The young merman felt that this was a liberty in the lobster, and was sure that his grandfather would not be pleased.