Scruffy - A Diversion Read Free Page B

the Surveyor’s wife went into the house and called the Colonial Secretary’s secretary and dusted him off on the subject of the famous Rock apes. The buck then passed from one telephone to another until it ended in the lap of the Colonial Secretary himself, who said bitterly to his assistant, “When you can get through to Brigadier Gaskell, call me—and don’t stop trying until you do.”
    There was not a great deal left of Scruffy’s happy morning on the town. As time was getting short and he liked to be back up on the hill and into his favourite olive tree for his siesta before midday, he went through three flower-beds, disrupted education at the Grammar School by giving a performance of gymnastics and acrobatics on the flying rings and other playground equipment, then having thoroughly digested his meal, went off and relieved himself in a fresh-water catchment, where he was observed by the Chief Water Engineer, whose life was wrapped up in providing adequate and sanitary water for the people and the garrison of Gibraltar. Next to the Governor, Colonial Secretary and Military Commander, his job was the most important on the post, and the rocket he loosed at the C.R.A. when he got through to him really finished the job of boiling over the Brigadier.
    Since all of his telephone lines were tied up and apparently would remain so until the ape on the loose left town, the Brigadier summoned his Staff Captain and snarled, “Get over to Old Queen’s Gate H.Q. and find young Bailey. I want him brought here immediately.” Unspoken but implicit in the glare of the Brigadier’s eyes and the choleric crimson of his countenance was the phrase, “Dead or alive.”

2

The Brigadier is not Amused
    T he Brigadier was a tall, florid man, whose mouth beneath a short military moustache was set in lines of permanent exasperation engendered by having to deal with young officers and rankers sent out these days who were simply not a patch on what soldiers had been in his own youth.
    His life had been dedicated to the service of the guns of the Royal Artillery, but now that he had reached General Officer status and Brigade Command he was not sure to what purpose. He had during his career dutifully blown up and dismembered an adequate number of human beings designated as enemies but whom he had never seen since the range was rarely less than 2,000 yards: he had himself suffered punctures of his hide. On his chest the fruit salad of ribbons contained the requisite decorations testifying to his courage and understanding of comportment consistent with the furthering of a military career. He was a thoroughly conscientious officer who had become set in the routine of trying to get on with things with men he considered inadequate for the job and administering his command with as little trouble as possible.
    Trouble was what Brigadier Gaskell hated, personal trouble, military trouble, trouble with superiors, trouble with inferiors, trouble at home, trouble on the post, and above all trouble with politicians, civil servants and civilians. Trouble was what he had on his hands now, trouble which would have repercussions quite possibly in the office of the Colonial Secretary, the Governor, Whitehall, and—one never knew—might even spark a nasty-minded question or two in Parliament, and which could have been avoided if a young nitwit of a Captain delegated to do the job had discharged his duties properly and kept his filthy beasts up at Queen’s Gate and Middle Hill where they belonged, instead of pestering him with requests for cages, sprays, concrete floorings, increase in food allowances and other damned coddlings of the foul creatures.
    Well, young Bailey was for it now, and Brigadier Gaskell, who had somewhat more imagination than usually associated with a soldier, relished the state that Captain Bailey would be in as Captain Quennel, his Staff Captain, marched him over to receive his chewing up. He would know that he was for the daddy of