place. In this case the threat of the Zoological Gardens authorities
that if the men "came out" the animals should come out also had
intensified and precipitated the crisis. The imminent prospect of the
larger carnivores, to say nothing of rhinoceroses and bull bison, roaming
at large and unfed in the heart of London, was not one which permitted of
prolonged conferences. The Government of the day, which from its
tendency to be a few hours behind the course of events had been nicknamed
the Government of the afternoon, was obliged to intervene with
promptitude and decision. A strong force of Bluejackets was despatched
to Regent's Park to take over the temporarily abandoned duties of the
strikers. Bluejackets were chosen in preference to land forces, partly
on account of the traditional readiness of the British Navy to go
anywhere and do anything, partly by reason of the familiarity of the
average sailor with monkeys, parrots, and other tropical fauna, but
chiefly at the urgent request of the First Lord of the Admiralty, who was
keenly desirous of an opportunity for performing some personal act of
unobtrusive public service within the province of his department.

"If he insists on feeding the infant jaguar himself, in defiance of its
mother's wishes, there may be another by-election in the north," said one
of his colleagues, with a hopeful inflection in his voice. "By-elections
are not very desirable at present, but we must not be selfish."

As a matter of fact the strike collapsed peacefully without any outside
intervention. The majority of the keepers had become so attached to
their charges that they returned to work of their own accord.

And then the nation and the newspapers turned with a sense of relief to
happier things. It seemed as if a new era of contentment was about to
dawn. Everybody had struck who could possibly want to strike or who