"Well," I said, "this new Hogan probably doesn't know the ropes yet. I guess I'll have to go into training. Anybody seen him? He look strong?" They all shook their heads and said they didn't know him. "O.K., then let's gab without him—"
The Post said: "Your correspondent has it that the pot's a-boilin'. Every bigwig in town is in there." He jabbed his thumb toward the main offices.
We all gave the door a glance, only, like I always did, I tried to knock it in with a look. You see, although all of us came down to the Prog Building every day, none of us knew what was inside. Yeah, 's' fact. We just came and sat and listened to the big shots and went away. Like specters at the feast. It griped all of us, but me most of all.
I would dream about it at night. How there was a Hyperman living in the Prog Building, only he breathed chlorine and they kept him in tanks. Or that they had the mummies of all the great men of the past which they reanimated every afternoon to ask questions. Or it would be a cow in some dreams that was full of brains and they'd taught it to "moo" in code. There were times when I thought that if I didn't get upstairs into the Prog Building I'd burst from frustration.
So I said: "You think they're going to fill up the Mediterranean again?"
The Ledger laughed. He said: "I hear tell they're going to switch poles. North to south and vice versa."
The Record said: "You don't think they could?"
The Ledger said: "I wish they would—if it'd improve my bridge."
I said: "Can it, lads, and let's have the dope."