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“Ahem!” repeated Pater. He straightened his stalk, and bellowed authoritatively, “JUNIOR! Come here!”

The prodigal polyp swam warily close. “Yes, Pater?”

“Junior,” said his parent solemnly, “now that you are about to grow down, it behooves you to know certain facts.”

Mater blushed a delicate lavender and turned away on her side of the rock.

“Very soon now,” said Pater, “you will begin feeling an irresistible urge ... to sink to the bottom, to take root there in some sheltered location which will be your lifetime site. Perhaps you even have an understanding already with some ... ah ... charming young polyp of the opposite gender, whom you would invite to share your homesite. Or, if not, you should take all the more pains to make that site as attractive as possible, in order that such a one may decide to grace it with—”

“Uh-huh,” said Junior understandingly. “That’s what the fellows mean when they say any of ‘em’ll fall for a few high-class rocks.”

Pater marshaled his thoughts again. “Well, quite apart from such material considerations as selecting the right rocks, there are certain ... ah ... matters we do not ordinarily discuss.”