study the rough claw with which the lobster did his deadly 
work. He liked to stare at the squid and think how fate- 
ful was his doom. Now, maybe, or in an hour or a day, 
he might die, slain by the lobster, and the lobster would 
eat him. He looked again at the greenish-copperish en- 
gine of destruction in the corner and wondered when this 
would be. To-night, maybe. He would come back to- 
He returned one night, and lo! to his grief and aston- 
ishment, his wish was granted. There was a little crowd 
around the tank. The lobster was it the corner. Be- 
fore him was the squid cut in two and partially de- 
"He got him at last," observed one bystander. "I 
was standing right here an hour ago, and up he leaped 
anti grabbed him. The squid was too tired. He wasn't 
quick enough. He did back up, but that lobster he cal- 
culated on his doing that. He's been figuring on his 
movements for a long time now. He got him to-day." 
"Well, I swan!" somebody observed. 
Cowperwood Junior only stared. He had missed this. 
It was too bad. He wanted to see it. The least touch of 
sorrow came to him for the squid as he stared at it slain. 
Then he stared at the victor. 
"That's the way it has to be, I guess," he commented 
to himself. "That squid wasn't quick enough. He didn't 
have anything to feed on." 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 said, 
finally, tucking his books under his arm and trotting on. 
It 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