The great sawfish, heavy muscled and slow of movement, made no attempt to defend himself, but plunged suddenly downward into the gloomy depths where he loved to lie in wait.
After relieving his indignation by a couple more vicious thrusts.
Little Sword realized that he was too small to accomplish anything against this sneaking and prowling bulk, and shot off to look for a less dangerous basking place.
"It was soon after this close shave with the sawfish that Little Sword came once more across the path of the Inkmaker.

He--" But the Babe could contain himself no longer.

He had been bursting with questions for the last ten minutes, and had heroically restrained himself.

But this was too much for him.
"Why, Uncle Andy," he cried.

"I thought the Inkmaker was dead.