to giggle by pinching them with his toes. 'After all, neither of the Wright boys, or Curtiss or Lindbergh, or any of the human astronauts ever carried four girls on his feet. I could swear to it.'
'Pan's a great guy to have on a party,' Happy said.
The great guy had ended his first burdened tour near the gin case. Standing on one hand again, he passed pints up to the girls with the other. Then he gulped a pint for himself.
'Doc,' Ape asked, 'how much gin can a chimpanzee drink?'
'Shhh,' Dr. Bedoian said. 'None of the girls has noticed he's a chimp. I imagine when they were younger they must have worked the convention parties up the coast. Why, Ape, nobody knows. At the going rate for good laboratory animals, it is not an experiment that has ever been performed, and I am fully aware that I should have my stethoscope and sphygometer out, testing our patient at regular intervals and taking notes. But I long ago reached a conclusion — I am lecturing.'
'Go on,' Happy said, 'a little education isn't going to ruin the U.S.N.'
'The tolerance for liquor goes up as the happiness-index of a party does,' Dr. Bedoian said. 'That is what I have observed. In other words, if you're having a lousy time, three drinks and you're blotto. If you're enjoying yourself, you can't get too many.'
'For a guy who's gone to college, you're pretty smart,' Happy said.
Ape's voice went into the growl of a Master CPO. 'The doc's a good guy. Lay off.'
'Aye, aye, Chief.'
''You, Pan,' Ape said, 'loan me a dame.'
He was dressed in his skivvy shirt and gray pants, his black shoes. He took the beautifully shined shoes off, and placed them neatly to one side, out of the line of march. Then he flexed his back, spat on his hands and stood on them.
'You, Flo, go sit on Ape's feet,' Pan said.
'Aw,' Flo said, 'I like the way yours tickle.'
Pan was stern. 'Go on, now. We're going to race.'
Dr. Bedoian muttered something about Ape being somewhat more than young, but the chief was on his hands, swinging his knees back and forth, determining the correct posture for endurance and speed.
Flo had dismounted from Pan's feet, and was crossing to Ape, but she was not happy. 'Us girls all come together, and we like to stay together,' she said. Tears trailed down her already-smudged makeup. 'I don't like leaving my friends.'
'Chemically speaking,' Dr. Bedoian said to Happy Bronstein, 'I should be making an analysis of those pearly drops. Science is losing out all around tonight. It may be the first time a lady has cried pure gin.'
'Knew a dame in Rio who never drank anything but rum,' Happy said. 'No water, tea or coffee. Just rum. Dark rum. Pharmacist's Mate said she couldn't live, but every time we made that port there she was, still drinking rum.'
'Fascinating,' Dr. Bedoian said. 'Sometimes I wish I could live forever, so I could explore all the things science hasn't time for., Look at friend Ape.'
IS the chief had had a hammer and sickle tattoed on his cheek, his face could have flown at the masthead of any ship in the Soviet's Navy. But, knees up, and bent to make a comfortable palanquin for the no-longer tearful Flo, he was puffing around the floor, losing ground to Pan at every shuffle, but losing it gracefully.
As Pan went into the stretch, Ape was only a wall behind.
Nobody heard the door of the sample room open, just as nobody had thought to lock it. The first they knew of anything was when an authoritative voice barked, 'Ten-hut!'
The race died, unresolved. But then, nobody had been betting anything more valuable than a drink of the communal gin.
Since the Navy does not ordinarily bark at CPOs, Ape did not lose his head, his balance, or the girl on his feet. He lowered her gently to the ground, stood up, and rendered a long-time sailor's sloppy version of Attention.
'You a sailor?' General Billy Maguire asked. 'If so, salute.'
'I ain't covered, sir,' Ape said.
'All right, all right,' the general barked. 'Watch your tongue, man. And you, doctor — consorting with enlisted men, are you?'
'I'm a civilian doctor,' Dr. Bedoian said.
Pan gave each of the three girls a farewell pinch and lowered them to their feet. Then he did a couple of somersaults which brought him face to face with the general.
General Maguire was in approved tropical gear; short sleeved worsted shirt, neat suntan trousers, and a snowy sun helmet with officer's insignia riveted or bolted to the front. His stars shone, one on each side of his open collar, and his ribbons were freshly ironed, all four rows of them.
Pan reached up and fingered the right-side star, meditatively.
'This animal is drunk!' General Maguire said.
Pan plucked the star, tasted it with his ample lips, bit it in half and spat it out.
General Wilfred (Billy) Maguire was a brave man. There was not an office in the Pentagon he was not willing to enter, requisition form in hand, and he had, at an earlier date, faced combat happily, knowing it was necessary for his record.
He proved the value of West Point to the taxpayers now; he never took a backward step, though surely he was first of his class to have his insignia of rank severed by simian teeth.
'Doctor, you're in charge here?' he asked.
Dr. Bedoian said, 'I am.'
'You were sent here to get a simple fact, a piece of information, out of this — this chimpanzee. Is this your way of getting it?'
'It is, sir. Play on his confidence. Relax him.'
General Maguire blew his breath out. 'You may be a civilian, doctor, but you are employed by the United States government. With which I am not entirely without influence.'
'That's terrible syntax,' Pan Satyrus said. It was the first time he had spoken since the general had interrupted their happy evening.
'What?' A thin man, General Maguire was not really in danger of an apoplectic stroke; he just looked like he was.
'I had a keeper once who was studying English. Trying to improve his station in life, he called it. According to Fowler, that is terrible sentence construction you were using. I thought you were an Academy man, General.'
Pan reached out, gently, for the general's class ring. The general clenched his hands. 'I am, sir.'
'You don't have to call me sir,' Pan Satyrus said. 'After all, I am just a simple civilian, non-taxpaying chimpanzee, aged seven and a half.'
The general sighed, and turned back to the doctor. 'These. ladies. Are they cleared, and if so, what is their clearance?'
Dr. Bedoian said, 'Don't be silly, general. You can see what they are.'
What they were was huddled together, speechless, their innocent gaiety vanished. Belle was bent over, her hands on her knees, perhaps trying to conceal her bowleggedness. Flo was crying.
'Sir, I relieve you,' the general said.
Dr. Bedoian held out his hand. 'You know who gave me this assignment, General. I'd like to see some written orders before I surrender my patient to you.'
Where joy and hand races, drinking and mild lechery had filled the room, there now loomed nothing but an impasse. Born of the age-old impact of civilian on military, it grew like a thunderhead on the edge of the desert in August.
And then it collapsed, as so many crises have, at the sound of a woman's voice.
The woman was more than a woman; she was a lady. She was more than an ordinary lady; she was a general's lady. She was Mrs. Maguire.
She entered in the full paraphenalia of her rank, simple silk dress, two strands of cultured pearls, heels high as a cadet's hopes. Her hair, done in the most current of fashions, was not obscured by a hat.
And as she entered she cried, 'Oh, where is that dear monkey! I could just kiss him for that marvellous flight today.'
