Frank only stared. Too bad he had missed this. The least touch of sorrow
for the squid came to him as he stared at it slain. Then he gazed at the
victor.

"That's the way it has to be, I guess," he commented to himself. "That
squid wasn't quick enough." He figured it out.

"The squid couldn't kill the lobster--he had no weapon. The lobster
could kill the squid--he was heavily armed. There was nothing for the
squid to feed on; the lobster had the squid as prey. What was the result
to be? What else could it be? He didn't have a chance," he concluded
finally, as he trotted on homeward.

The incident made a great impression on him. It answered in a rough way
that riddle which had been annoying him so much in the past: "How is
life organized?" Things lived on each other--that was it. Lobsters lived
on squids and other things. What lived on lobsters? Men, of course!
Sure, that was it! And what lived on men? he asked himself. Was it other
men? Wild animals lived on men. And there were Indians and cannibals.
And some men were killed by storms and accidents. He wasn't so sure
about men living on men; but men did kill each other. How about wars and
street fights and mobs? He had seen a mob once. It attacked the Public
Ledger building as he was coming home from school. His father had
explained why. It was about the slaves. That was it! Sure, men lived on
men. Look at the slaves. They were men. That's what all this excitement
was about these days. Men killing other men--negroes.

He went on home quite pleased with himself at his solution.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, as he entered the house, "he finally got him!"