“All sorts of animal matter that floats around in the water and that is so small we can’t see it.”
Harold observed him suspiciously. “I don’t believe it’s alive at all,” he said presently. “It’s just a sort of seaweed, and it moves because the water moves.”
“Think so?” asked Dick. “Then put your hand down there toward it and see what happens.”
“It won’t—bite, will it?” asked Harold doubtfully.
“No, but it will show you whether it’s alive or not. You needn’t touch it,” he added, noting the other’s hesitancy. “Just put your hand near it or disturb the water.”
Harold pulled his sleeve up and cautiously thrust an arm into the pool. “Gee!” he exclaimed. “It shut its mouth!”
Dick laughed. “Doesn’t look much like it did, does it?”
“No; it’s an ugly little thing now,” responded the other. “Say, that’s funny, isn’t it? Guess it’s alive, all right.”
“Yes; and it knows three things pretty well: It knows how to attach itself to the rocks, how to get food, and how to shut up shop when trouble brews.”
“What would it do if you took it out?”