ying his hardest to understand the fidgit's language, struggling to
make the fidgit understand him.

When I woke up it was broad daylight again. The Doctor was still
standing at the listening-tank, looking as tired as an owl and
dreadfully wet. But on his face there was a proud and happy smile.

"Stubbins," he said as soon as he saw me stir, "I've done it. I've
got the key to the fidgit's language. It's a frightfully difficult
language--quite different from anything I ever heard. The only thing it
reminds me of--slightly--is ancient Hebrew. It isn't shellfish; but it's
a big step towards it. Now, the next thing, I want you to take a pencil
and a fresh notebook and write down everything I say. The fidgit has
promised to tell me the story of his life. I will translate it into
English and you put it down in the book. Are you ready?"

Once more the Doctor lowered his ear beneath the level of the water; and
as he began to speak, I started to write. And this is the story that the
fidgit told us.

THIRTEEN MONTHS IN AN AQUARIUM

"I was born in the Pacific Ocean, close to the coast of Chile. I was one
of a family of two-thousand five-hundred and ten. Soon after our mother
and father left us, we youngsters got scattered. The family was broken
up--by a herd of whales who chased us. I and my sister, Clippa (she was
my favorite sister) had a very narrow escape for our lives. As a rule,
whales are not very hard to get away from if you are good at dodging--if
you've only got a quick swerve. But this one that came after Clippa and
myself was a very mean whale, Every time he lost us under a stone or
something he'd come back and hunt and hunt till he routed us out into
the open again. I never saw such a nasty, persevering brute.

"Well, we shook him at last--though not before he had worried us for
hundreds of miles northward, up the west coast of South America. But
luck was against us that day. While we were resting and trying to get
our breath, another family of fidgits came rushing by, shouting, 'Come
on! Swim for your lives! The dog-fish are coming!'

"Now dog-fish are particularly fond of fidgits. We are, you might say,
their favorite food--and for that reason we always keep away from deep,
muddy waters. What's more, dog-fish are not easy to escape from; they
are terribly fast and clever hunters. So up we had to jump and on again.

"After we had gone a few more hundred miles we looked back and saw that
the dog-fish were