too much depressed in spirits to argue; so he only said, "I can't
get out."

"Why did you get in?"

"After that nasty piece of dead fish." He had thought it looked
and smelt very nice when he was outside, and so it did, for a
lobster: but now he turned round and abused it because he was
angry with himself.

"Where did you get in?"

"Through that round hole at the top."

"Then why don't you get out through it?"

"Because I can't:" and the lobster twiddled his horns more fiercely
than ever, but he was forced to confess.

"I have jumped upwards, downwards, backwards, and sideways, at
least four thousand times; and I can't get out: I always get up
underneath there, and can't find the hole."

Tom looked at the trap, and having more wit than the lobster, he
saw plainly enough what was the matter; as you may if you will look
at a lobster-pot.

"Stop a bit," said Tom. "Turn your tail up to me, and I'll pull
you through hindforemost, and then you won't stick in the spikes."