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The old, familiar, battered black-walnut hatrack of his student days leaned drunkenly against the wall Thornton knew one of its back legs was missing and on the imitation marble slab was a telegram addressed to "Professor Benjamin Hooker." And also, instinctively, Thornton lifted up his adult voice and yelled: "O-o-h, ye-ay! Bennie Hooker!" The volume of his own sound startled him.
Instantly he saw the ridiculousness of it he, the senior astronomer at the Naval Observatory, yelling like that "O-o-h, ye-ay!" came in smothered tones from above. Thornton bounded up the stairs, two, three steps at a time, and pounded on the old door over the porch. "Go away!" came back the voice of Bennie Hooker. "Don't want any lunch!"
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