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.

But he refrained interrupting.

It would be dreadful if Uncle Andy should get annoyed and stop at this critical point! "When Little Sword saw those long feelers dragging the barracouta down," went on Uncle Andy, after relighting his pipe, "he darted forward like a blue flame and jabbed his sword right through the nearest one." "Oh, ho!" cried the Babe, forgetting caution.