FLOUNDERS ARE WONDERFUL 



sand. Jason could not have been more surprised at 

 his reaping than I, when everything on board the 

 flounder began working at once. I am sure the right 

 kind of microphone could have registered a faint 

 four bells. 



Slowly the encircling rays near the head of the 

 fish began pushing and straightening, until they 

 were nearly upright, bending under the weight, but 

 holding their owner high above the bottom. Simulta- 

 neously the mast and attendant yards were lifted, 

 three rays of the pectoral fin waving on high the full 

 length of the body. Without clank of machinery or 

 whisper of orders, the two turreted eyes rose from 

 far forward, and the peacock flounder was cleared 

 for action. 



The eyes were so uncanny I watched them for 

 half an hour. The sides of the turrets were con- 

 spicuous, a clear buffy-brown, for these were usually 

 concealed. The flat summits were at present irides- 

 cent — green, blue and yellow, but could be flooded 

 with pure arenaceous at an instant's notice. From 

 the outer rim of the top there floated out behind two 

 rather stiffish, fleshy tentacles, with a few lesser fila- 

 ments hanging from them. These gave a most 

 jaunty air, a cockatoo-crest of sorts, which, sprout- 

 ing from a turret, leaves us^ in a sad welter of mixed 

 metaphors. 



Unlike the exposed part of the eye of most fishes, 

 that of the peacock flounder was not round, but con- 

 stricted by encroaching skin to a broad horizontal 

 crescent. This resulted from a rounded flap which 



105 



