the eyes of his enemy, for by degrees small portions of his body began
to disappear, snapped off by the relentless claws of his pursuer. The
lobster would leap like a catapult to where the squid was apparently
idly dreaming, and the squid, very alert, would dart away, shooting out
at the same time a cloud of ink, behind which it would disappear. It was
not always completely successful, however. Small portions of its body
or its tail were frequently left in the claws of the monster below.
Fascinated by the drama, young Cowperwood came daily to watch.

One morning he stood in front of the tank, his nose almost pressed to
the glass. Only a portion of the squid remained, and his ink-bag was
emptier than ever. In the corner of the tank sat the lobster, poised
apparently for action.

The boy stayed as long as he could, the bitter struggle fascinating him.
Now, maybe, or in an hour or a day, the squid might die, slain by
the lobster, and the lobster would eat him. He looked again at the
greenish-copperish engine of destruction in the corner and wondered when
this would be. To-night, maybe. He would come back to-night.

He returned that night, and lo! the expected had happened. There was a
little crowd around the tank. The lobster was in the corner. Before him
was the squid cut in two and partially devoured.

"He got him at last," observed one bystander. "I was standing right here
an hour ago, and up he leaped and grabbed him. The squid was too tired.
He wasn't quick enough. He did back up, but that lobster he calculated
on his doing that. He's been figuring on his movements for a long time
now. He got him to-day."