Scruffy - A Diversion by Paul Gallico

trouble, but would come up with an idea. “Oh, he had me over the coals of course. Wanted to know what I meant by going over his head.”
    “I didn’t know he’d got one,” Felicity commented. “What did you say?”
    “I threw paragraph eight, Clause A of Standing Part One Orders at him which says, ‘It shall be the duty of the Officer in Charge Apes to provide names for all new-born surviving apes bred and born on the Rock and such names shall be duly registered and inscribed upon the rolls, and thereafter the apes shall be referred to by that name . . .’ ”
    “That must have shaken him,” Felicity said. “I suppose he wrote that himself.”
    “One of his predecessors,” Tim explained. “But that’s nothing to the next broadside. Listen to this: ‘Should the Officer in Charge Apes wish to confer the name of any living person upon an ape he must first secure permission of said person in writing.’ ”
    “Check! Mate in one move,” said Felicity. “What did the Brigadier say to that?”
    “Poor old boy, he grew rather plaintive and asked why I didn’t let him know.”
    “And—?”
    “I had been waiting for that one for days,” Tim said. He drew himself to attention and snapped Felicity an exaggeration of the salute he had thrown at the Brigadier. “Sir! You said I was not to pass any more bumph over your desk.”
    “Mate!” cried Felicity. “Oh, Tim, I could love you for that,” and she threw back her head and began to roar with laughter.
    It set Tim off too and the next moment they found that they had laughed themselves into one another’s arms, for the joke was so good and the merriment so infectious that they found it easier, in fact almost necessary, to cleave to one another for support. Thus they clung to one another for an instant in a kind of personal ecstasy of enjoyment of the joke and the plot they had hatched out together before separating in quite the most natural manner, except that Tim found that he was tingling strangely.
    And far, far below a bugle call arose faintly through the heavy summer air from the Casemates, and then there was a thud as an Artillery piece was fired. It was the sunset gun.
    Felicity looked out over the Spanish hills. She no longer laughed. A small frown appeared on her brow. “Do you think there is going to be a war, Tim?” she asked.
    The young officer was silent for some time while he reflected upon what he knew was concealed there before he replied, “I hope not,” and with a little thrill that rippled over her heart Felicity understood the connection between that reply and his next query which he made after regarding her curiously. “How long do you expect to be here, Felicity?”
    “As long as Mother and Dad are,” Felicity replied, and for a moment she reflected moodily. “I’m supposed to find a husband. Mother’s worried about my becoming a spinster. Are you terrified?” It was a comic question but this time there was a gravity behind her eyes.
    “Abou Ben Bailey’s name will not be heading Mum’s list,” Tim replied.
    “Why did you ask if I would be staying long?”
    “Because if there is a war I hope you will leave the Rock very quickly.”
    “Why?”
    “Your father knows, the Brigadier knows, everybody really knows excepting the natives.” He pointed out towards the rolling brown hills of Spain. “So friendly and innocent looking,” he said, “and loaded. Back in those folds. German 32-centimetre guns. Zeroed in on us.”
    Felicity looked at him questioningly, “And ours?”
    “Pointing the wrong way most of them,” Timothy replied. “Up into the sky or out to sea. And wrong trajectory for firing inland. Typical, isn’t it?” He pointed once more to the hills. “All high-trajectory guns. It’s going to be a mess. They’ll have to get the women and children out. The Spaniards have never given up wanting this back, you know.” He fell silent for a moment and Felicity didn’t speak either, then Tim added, “My