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Chanticleer
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with suppressed laughter. "Hey!" he screeched, "did you hear what the guy said when he saw the sweater girl?" People looked bored. "All that meat for only two points!" And then he broke into a spasm of laughter, slapping me heartily on the back. "Er, you aren't Forrest J. Ackerman?" I asked. "No, I'm Daughtery--Walt Daughterty." "My name is Tillywish, I'm--" "Oh, Tillywish, glad to know you." He pumped my hand vigorously. "Say!" ejaculated Walt, "have you heard about my new fan-mag? It's called FAN. How about subscribing for a page of photos in the mag? It's only $2.50. I'll mark you down for $5.00. Thanks a lot, Mr. Bilish. Well, so long gang, gotta go!" "But Mr. Daugherty--" I began. "Sa-a-a-ay!" he interrupted, grabbing me by the arm. "Did you hear what General Eisenhower said?" "Er, no," I said glumly. "Did I tell you about my operations!" Once more choking with laughter, he exited from the room. By this time I was a bit bewildered. Just as I turned to leave, a small, incustrious-appearing woman approached me. "You're not leaving so soon?" she said. "I know we're not doing very much, but some excitment will start as soon as the rest of the gang arrives." "Excitment!" snorted Yerke disgustedly from a corner, "nothing ever happens around here." "Oh, I don't know," exclaimed the woman indignantly, "we chased a mouse from the closet the other day." "Mouse have been lots of fun, Morojo," chuckled a tall, mustached individual from behind a green and brown typewriter. This was Ackerman. I feigned laughter and this atrocious pun, and noticed Yerke sneering at me as I did so. "I see," he said, "that you appreciate real wit." "Er, yes--" I mumbled, reddening. An up-to-this-time quiet person, with a wild gleam in his eye walked across the room toward me. "Hi!" he said, "got a match--and a cigarette?" I proferred him my pack of cigarettes. He snatched the package, took three cigarettes from it, and handed it back. ((Shades of Don Rogers)) "Hm-mpf," he breathed, noticing the brand. "Know anything about Communism?" said this person, breathing smoke in my face. "Well," I began... Half an hour later I emerged from a corner of the room, thoughts of Russia,
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with suppressed laughter. "Hey!" he screeched, "did you hear what the guy said when he saw the sweater girl?" People looked bored. "All that meat for only two points!" And then he broke into a spasm of laughter, slapping me heartily on the back. "Er, you aren't Forrest J. Ackerman?" I asked. "No, I'm Daughtery--Walt Daughterty." "My name is Tillywish, I'm--" "Oh, Tillywish, glad to know you." He pumped my hand vigorously. "Say!" ejaculated Walt, "have you heard about my new fan-mag? It's called FAN. How about subscribing for a page of photos in the mag? It's only $2.50. I'll mark you down for $5.00. Thanks a lot, Mr. Bilish. Well, so long gang, gotta go!" "But Mr. Daugherty--" I began. "Sa-a-a-ay!" he interrupted, grabbing me by the arm. "Did you hear what General Eisenhower said?" "Er, no," I said glumly. "Did I tell you about my operations!" Once more choking with laughter, he exited from the room. By this time I was a bit bewildered. Just as I turned to leave, a small, incustrious-appearing woman approached me. "You're not leaving so soon?" she said. "I know we're not doing very much, but some excitment will start as soon as the rest of the gang arrives." "Excitment!" snorted Yerke disgustedly from a corner, "nothing ever happens around here." "Oh, I don't know," exclaimed the woman indignantly, "we chased a mouse from the closet the other day." "Mouse have been lots of fun, Morojo," chuckled a tall, mustached individual from behind a green and brown typewriter. This was Ackerman. I feigned laughter and this atrocious pun, and noticed Yerke sneering at me as I did so. "I see," he said, "that you appreciate real wit." "Er, yes--" I mumbled, reddening. An up-to-this-time quiet person, with a wild gleam in his eye walked across the room toward me. "Hi!" he said, "got a match--and a cigarette?" I proferred him my pack of cigarettes. He snatched the package, took three cigarettes from it, and handed it back. ((Shades of Don Rogers)) "Hm-mpf," he breathed, noticing the brand. "Know anything about Communism?" said this person, breathing smoke in my face. "Well," I began... Half an hour later I emerged from a corner of the room, thoughts of Russia,
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