“Did they have a small lower jaw and a large upper one? Were their eyes set well back on the side of their heads? Did their tails wave like those of some tropical fish?” The professor was growing excited.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Johnny laughed again. “But say—I tried to take pictures of them! Wonder if they could have been good! Wait till I get my camera.” He made a dive into the steel ball to reappear at once with the camera.
“But Johnny!” Doris insisted, “you haven’t told us what really happened?”
“I don’t know, and that’s a fact!” replied Johnny, quietly, soberly. “I was just taking pictures of those beasts when—”
“They’re known as little big-heads,” the professor broke in, “and they are rare, indeed! You are the first person ever to see them alive. Two specimens have been found washed up on coral beaches, dead. You are a truly great explorer, Johnny! You may now take a bow.”
“Aw, say!” Johnny fairly blushed.
“Anyway,” he insisted, “one of them must have become tangled in our cable, and in his wild efforts to free himself, took us for an underseas joyride!”
“That doesn’t seem possible,” mused the professor, slowly. “I should like to know what really happened.”
“So should I!” Johnny agreed. “All I have to say is—I’d like them to stay clear of our cable, in the future! Please look at my hair! Do you think it will turn white?”
“In thirty or forty years,” Doris laughed. “But Johnny—we’re dying to see those pictures.”