When he found himself so roughly
seized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such
surprise and terror, by these magical transformations, that the hero
would be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the Old
One would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea,
whence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in
order to answer any impertinent questions. Ninety-nine people out of a
hundred, I suppose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the
very first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at
once. For one of the hardest things in this world is to see the
difference between real dangers and imaginary ones.
But, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One so
much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no
small torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure.
So there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of personage,
with something like a tuft of seaweed at his chin.
"Pray, what do you want with me?" cried the Old One, as soon as he could
take breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so many
false shapes. "Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me go this moment, or
I shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!"
"My name is Hercules!" roared the mighty stranger.
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