I agreed with him. When I reached Africa it was I who would be a curiosity--I who would be an object of scrutiny and, possibly, amusement. I recalled those wicked and cunning little monkey-eyes in my dreams of the previous night, and I couldn't help laughing. It seemed so ludicrous to think that presently the measure of my importance in a Government office would be turned topsy-turvy and have to adjust itself to the ape standard of the African jungle. What would be the value of my civilized brain when pitted against their natural cunning and cruelty and physical strength? Would they be impressed by the position I took in that infernal entrance examination? Which would win--brains or beef? As I came out of the Gardens into the main road I heard the sound of an aeroplane engine, looked up, and saw the black speck of machinery travelling slowly up river. The pavements, the houses, the busses and motor cars, and the people around me took on an air of unreality. In an instant I was in Gaboon, setting out to fetch our daily cargo of live gorillas. "Whoa--guv'nor!" cried a voice. I lowered my gaze just in time to avert a collision with a ladder and innumerable pots and pans, and once more the paraphernalia of modern civilization obtruded itself into my consciousness. "Better 'phone to the office," I thought, "and let them know I'm not coming to-day. I wonder who'll have to tackle that Wilson file now? What a mess! What a conglomeration of correspondence and Board's orders! What a fuss over nothing! Why do civil servants and their overlords spend their lives in writing and talking and arguing with one another?" I didn't bother to answer the question--it all seemed such a feeble waste of time and energy. When I reached the station I entered a telephone box, got through to the office at last, and broke the news to one of my colleagues--a tall, thin, dyspeptic individual called Swanson--a "promotion" man who took work very seriously, in the hope of some ultimate and earthly reward for his industry and intelligence. "Hello!" I said. "That you, Swanson? This is Barnett speaking." "Anything the matter?" he asked. "Not ill, I hope." "Yes! I'm taking sick leave at once. I'm sick of the work, sick of the office, sick of the Civil Service--dead beat!" A horrified pause. Then: "You sound very cheerful in spite of it! What's happened? Any message for the chief?" "My love and blessings! Tell him that I'm going for a sea voyage--for the good of my soul!" "You're joking. . . ." "Not a bit! I'm going to Gaboon." "_Where?_" "Gaboon! It's a health resort on the west coast of Equatorial Africa--a favorite spot for day trips into the heart of the Gorilla Country." Another pause. Poor old Swanson! Then: "Are you really sending in a sick note, Barnett?" "Dozens of 'em! I left the service at nine-thirty this morning, relinquished my prospects of promotion, sacrificed my pension at sixty! Isn't it exciting?" "Been left some money?"