Free Summer in February by Jonathan Smith Page B

anemone’s tentacles to touch the tip of his tongue, because he wanted
     to know the full effect. That was a snakelocks, too.’
    ‘His tongue!’ Florence’s voice was a low whisper. ‘Did you say his … tongue? He allowed one of those …
things
to touch his tongue?’
    ‘Yes, and the anemone seized it very hard and it took him about a minute or more to claw it off. Imagine that, a snakelocks
     clamped on your tongue.’
    If Joey found all this quite funny, Florence did not.
    ‘But why did he do it?’
    ‘To see the effect, as I said. And it was extremely distressing. Hardly surprising as it pumps poison into you. They may be
     very beautiful, but they’re also very aggressive.’
    ‘The man’s a fool,’ Gilbert muttered.
    ‘Apparently his tongue felt very swollen, though it did not
appear
any larger, so he dipped it alternately in hot and cold water. Can’t you see him doing it?’
    ‘Sounds an even bigger fool,’ Gilbert exclaimed.
    ‘And the ulceration of his tongue only disappeared when he applied some nitrate of silver, drastic though that is.’
    Florence waved her hands in the air, calling for an urgent halt to all this, shaking her head in a speechlessly urgent request.
    ‘Yes,’ Gilbert said, ‘enough’s enough, I think.’
    ‘Can we go back,’ Florence asked quietly, ‘to the poetry?’
    ‘The poetry?’ Joey looked blank.
    ‘Yes, does he take it all
that
seriously?’ Florence asked.
    ‘What?’
    ‘His recitation, his Rook.’
    ‘Oh, the Raven you mean.’
    ‘Raven, then.’
    ‘Good question, isn’t it,’ Joey admitted. ‘I suppose he must. After all it takes a devil of a lot of learning, and I suspect
     he’s got others up his sleeve.’
    But Florence had turned her attention, full face and very pale, to her visitor. It was an attention her visitor could not
     ignore.
    ‘So, what have you been doing today … Gilbert?’
    ‘Me?’
    Gilbert could not see much of interest for this beautiful girl in the stone-hauling around the Boskenna yard orthe Colonel’s correspondence, while the incident with Mrs Paynter’s half-dead dog might well be most inappropriate in mixed
     company. But he felt he really had to say something or seem insufferably dull, so he gave a fairly comic and very heavily
     edited version of Flirt, Her-Almost-Final-Moments. Joey loved every minute of it, so Gilbert relaxed and elaborated a bit,
     until he saw Florence’s face.
    ‘But,’ he added with an encouraging smile, ‘it all ended happily, that’s the main thing, as I said to Mrs Paynter, Flirt will
     be fine tomorrow, probably already is.’
    Her voice, when it came, was intensely considered and not to be denied.
    ‘What sort of poison did you say it was?’
    Before Gilbert could answer the question Joey stood up and rubbed his hands.
    ‘Aquarium time, I think, our ocean in miniature, our very own sea floor.’
    Joey led the way, followed by Florence, but Gilbert could no longer concentrate on the business of identification. His Flirt
     story had spoilt the atmosphere, that was evident, and as they walked through to the cluttered back parlour all he could do
     was to ask her some sensible questions, more or less anything, on more or less any topic, as long as it was sensible.
    ‘So, you’ve been to your first class … with Stanhope Forbes?’
    ‘No, we’re going tomorrow, I’m afraid I was too tired, I woke so late.’
    ‘I’m not surprised, it’s a long way from London.’
    In the back parlour, Joey’s marble-topped table was covered with small pails and china bowls and various hoop nets and prods.
    ‘Gilbert’s always up with the lark, aren’t you, Gilbert?’
    ‘I have to be.’
    ‘From now on Joey will be coming with me every day I go to Newlyn, won’t you, Joey?’
    Joey settled on his haunches in front of the aquarium, slipping a thermometer slowly into the water. Florence spoke to his
     back.
    ‘Won’t you? We’ve
agreed
!’
    Joey wrinkled his nose and shrugged. His eyes