The Biography of a Man-Eater 



of gristle, with just the suggestion of sharp teeth 

 around his jaws. 



For hours he lay, a mound on the sand, resting 

 easily on his big pad-like pectoral fins and tail that 

 fell over upon his side; then as darkness came, he 

 moved restlessly, flung his tail to one side, and was 

 surprised to find that he shot forward and found 

 himself in midwater. He could move, was buoyant; 

 then fear came again, and alarmed at his exposed 

 position, afraid of he knew not what, he swung the 

 limp tail, shot ahead and ran blindly beneath the 

 edge of a wall of projecting branch coral which 

 formed a cheval de frise to the channel. No more 

 fortunate position could have been selected; indeed, 

 it was prophetic of the good luck which followed the 

 man-eater all his life. 



The jagged points of the coral were so many 

 bayonets over his recumbent body. He had found 

 a snug harbor, and that it was safe was evident by 

 the numbers of crawfish which occupied a similar 

 position along the line, brandishing their serrated 

 whips and assuming an air of hostility and bravery 

 which was the merest presumption. 



As night came on the young shark shifted from 

 side to side, working the sand out so that he could 

 lie with ease, gradually forming a nest in the soft 

 sand the shape of his yielding body. His eyes, which 

 were of the exact shade of his skin, but spotted with 

 black, now began to take in objects near at hand. 



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