“No, you sympathetically sublimated idiot, of course not. It is only that I want to hear all I can of Mr. Dunbar’s talk. You know I’ve always been interested in fish—even when they refuse to take bait. Hush. He’s about to begin again.” “Oh, it is obvious enough when you think about it,” said Dunbar. “It is a fundamental law of nature that every living thing, animal or vegetable, shall tend to develop whatever organs or functions it has need of, for defense against enemies or for securing the food it needs. You see that everywhere, in the coloring of animals and in a thousand other ways. The upper side of a flounder is exactly the color of the sand on which he lies. That is to prevent the shark and other enemies from seeing him and eating him up. But his under side, which cannot be seen at all by his enemies, is white, because there is no need of color in it. I could give you a hundred illustrations, but there is no need. Your own daily observation will supply them.” Again Dunbar paused, as if his mind had wandered far away and was occupying itself with other subjects. After waiting for a minute or two Cal ventured to jog his memory: “As we are not familiar with the bullhead—we who live down South—we don’t quite see the application of what you’ve been saying, Mr. Dunbar. Would you mind explaining?” “Oh, certainly not,” quickly answered the man of science, rousing himself as if from sleep. “I was saying—it’s very ridiculous, but I’ve quite forgotten what I was saying. Tell me.” “You were telling us about the bullhead’s possession—”