"This was
_another_ Inkmaker, of course. And a very much bigger and more
dangerous one, moreover, as you'll see presently. It was little _he_
had to fear from the barracoutas. In fact, he had just fixed one of
his longer tentacles on a vigorous four-foot barracouta, and was slowly
drawing him down within reach of the rest of the feelers, when Little
Sword's shining eyes alighted upon the struggle.
"This particular Inkmaker was crouching in a sort of shallow basin
between rocks which were densely fringed with bright-striped weeds,
starry madrepores, and sea-anemones of every lovely color. Disturbed
by the struggle, however, the madrepores and anemones were nervously
closing up their living blooms. The Inkmaker, who always managed
somehow to have his own colors match his surroundings, so that his
hideous form would not show too plainly and frighten his victims away,
was now of a dirty pinkish-yellow, blotched and striped with
purplish-brown; and his tentacles were like a bunch of striped snakes.
Only his eyes never changed. They lay unwinking, two huge round lenses
of terrible and intense blackness, staring upwards from the base of the
writhing tentacles."
The Babe shuddered again, and wished that the beautiful swordfish would
swim away as quickly as possible from the slimy horror.
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