Pinocchio at first tried to be brave, but as soon as he became convinced that he was really and truly in the Shark's stomach, he burst into sobs and tears. "Help! Help!" he cried. "Oh, poor me! Won't someone come to save me?"
"Who is there to help you, unhappy boy?" said a rough voice, like a guitar out of tune.
"Who is talking?" asked Pinocchio, frozen with terror.
"It is I, a poor Tunny swallowed by the Shark at the same time as you. And what kind of a fish are you?"
"I have nothing to do with fishes. I am a Marionette."
"If you are not a fish, why did you let this monster swallow you?"
"I didn't let him. He chased me and swallowed me without even a 'by your leave'! And now what are we to do here in the dark?"
"Wait until the Shark has digested us both, I suppose."
"But I don't want to be digested," shouted Pinocchio, starting to sob.
"Neither do I," said the Tunny, "but I am wise enough to think that if one is born a fish, it is more dignified to die under the water than in the frying pan."
"What nonsense!" cried Pinocchio.
"Mine is an opinion," replied the Tunny, "and opinions should be respected."
"But I want to get out of this place. I want to escape."
"Go, if you can!"
"Is this Shark that has swallowed us very long?" asked the Marionette.
"His body, not counting the tail, is almost a mile long."
While talking in the darkness, Pinocchio thought he saw a faint light in the distance.
"What can that be?" he said to the Tunny.
"Some other poor fish, waiting as patiently as we to be digested by the Shark."
"I want to see him. He may be an old fish and may know some way of escape."
"I wish you all good luck, dear Marionette."
"Good-by, Tunny."
"Good-by, Marionette, and good luck."
"When shall I see you again?"
"Who knows? It is better not to think about it."
In the Shark's body Pinocchio finds whom? Read this chapter, my children, and you will know.
Pinocchio, as soon as he had said good-by to his good friend, the Tunny, tottered away in the darkness and began to walk as well as he could toward the faint light which glowed in the distance.
As he walked his feet splashed in a pool of greasy and slippery water, which had such a heavy smell of fish fried in oil that Pinocchio thought it was Lent.
The farther on he went, the brighter and clearer grew the tiny light. On and on he walked till finally he found-I give you a thousand guesses, my dear children! He found a little table set for dinner and lighted by a candle stuck in a glass bottle; and near the table sat a little old man, white as the snow, eating live fish. They wriggled so that, now and again, one of them slipped out of the old man's mouth and escaped into the darkness under the table.
At this sight, the poor Marionette was filled
