BENEATH TROPIC SEAS 



he cleaned himself carefully, wiping off every fleck 

 of sand from eyes and whatever parts of himself 

 he could reach. 



A file of fiddler brethren passed and my crab 

 raised aloft and brandished his great claw — broad- 

 sword, battle-ax, mammoth shears, — all similes 

 fail. He was answered by every male in sight and 

 a youngster ran up and made one or two passes at 

 him. The ebbing tide was lapping a yard or two 

 away and all the host gradually made its way down 

 to the water. With eyes on high, the little chaps 

 worked at feeding with might and main. They 

 simply spooned the mud into their mouths and 

 there made selection of edible morsels, or with the 

 tiny forceps of the small claw picked up bits of sea- 

 weed. Once full retreat was sounded — a false 

 alarm, for one crab had seen another frightened by 

 some youngster down the beach who suddenly 

 caught sight of a small hermit crab bumping 

 along peacefully enough, and fled headlong — doing 

 whatever crabs do instead of screaming. 



My muscles rebelled at last and I sat up to ease 

 them, and by the action sent every crab into its 

 burrow. They even ran toivard me in order to 

 reach their holes. All was quiet for the space of 

 two minutes and then the elves and hobgoblins 

 appeared again. When the procession had fairly 

 begun, I saw a new development. Every male in 

 sight stiffened to attention, and lifted his great 

 claw as high as he could reach. And down the 

 line came a female fiddler. There were others 



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