“Oh, no, they ain’t.”
“I tell you, they be.”
“Wal, I guess not.”
“Wal, I guess yes.”
“Oh, you go ’way; I guess I know!”
The scientific discussion given above had proceeded no further when a cooler-headed member of the party pointed with a peace-making finger to the label, which read “Catfish,” as plain as print. Hoping that these visitors’ knowledge of fishes had been improved by this little difference of opinion, Philip found that he had exhausted the contents of the outer corridor, and went into the middle, where he found a rockwork fountain surrounded by a pool full of other fish. He went around the tanks seen from the middle of the building with the same care he had given to those outside, and found plenty to pay him for the trouble.
MODEL OF A GROUP OF ZUÑIS: GOVERNMENT BUILDING.
In one compartment were several sharks, and affixed to one of the sharks were two of those fishes called “remoras,” who have upon their heads a sort of sucker that can be used to hold them to any smooth surface. Philip remembered reading that the ancients thought these fish could stop even a large galley. He had always regarded the statement as a wild yarn of antique romancers, but he was glad to see just how the remora applied himself to his vocation. The shark was unable to get at his unwelcome guests, and there were two of them, each more than half as long as his host. Philip said to himself that it was a shame, and then he happened to think that it was not necessary to be very sorry for sharks—which are not a kindly race. What the remora had to gain by this attachment he couldn’t exactly see, unless it was mere transportation from place to place. Possibly the shark would leave something of every meal, and then the remoras would dine at the second table. It was as if a banker should have two professional beggars sit upon his shoulders, and pick up the odd change that he didn’t look sharply after.
