Left End Edwards

"There you are," he said triumphantly, pushing the object into the faint gleam of light which reached them from the foot of the stairs. "There's a chair that'll last for years."

"But you said it was a Morris chair," exclaimed Tom. "That's no Morris chair!"

"Oh, yes, it is," Durkin assured them earnestly. "I bought it from him myself last June."

"Bought it from whom?" asked Steve derisively.

"From Spencer Morris, of course. Paid a lot for it, too. Have a look at it. It's just as good as it ever was. The leather's a little bit worn at the edges, but you can fix that all right. It wouldn't cost more than half a dollar, I suppose, to put a new piece on there."

"Look here," said Steve disgustedly, "you're a fakir! What do you suppose we want with a relic like that? You said you had a Morris chair and now you pull this thing out to show us. Is that all you've got?"

"Oh, no, I've got a lot of good things in there," answered Durkin cheerfully, peering into the gloomy recesses of the storeroom. "How about some pictures, or a pair of fine vases, or–"

"Have you another arm-chair?" asked Steve impatiently.

"No, this is the only one. I've got some dandy cushions, though, for a window-seat. Let me show you those." And Durkin was back again before Steve could stop him. Tom was grinning when Steve turned an indignant look upon him.

"Morris chair!" growled Steve. "Silly chump!"

"Here you are!" Durkin came proudly forth, heralded by a cloud of pungent dust, and tossed three cushions into the chair. "Look at those for bargains, will you? Fifty cents apiece and dirt cheap."

"We don't want cushions," growled Steve disgustedly. But Tom was examining them and presently he looked across at his chum. "We might buy these, Steve. They're not so bad."

Steve grudgingly looked them over. Finally, "We'll give you twenty-five cents apiece for them," he said.

"Twenty-five! Why, they're worth a dollar!"

"All right, you keep them."

Durkin hesitated and sighed. Finally, as the boys showed a strong inclination to seek the stairway, "Give me a dollar for the lot," he said. Steve questioned Tom with his eyes and Tom nodded.

"All right," said Tom, "but it's more than they're worth."

"You'd have to pay a dollar and a half if you bought them new," said Durkin. "Honest! Now, about that chair–"

"Nothing doing!" interrupted Steve decisively.

"It's a good chair, and comfortable—say, sit down and just try it, will you?" Durkin removed the cushions and Steve, with a shrug, seated himself. When he got out Tom took his place. It was comfortable.

"How much?" asked Steve carelessly.

"Three-fifty, and dirt–"

"Give you a dollar and a half."

Durkin looked so pained that Tom quite pitied him. But he only said patiently: "You don't want to buy, you fellows; you're looking for gifts. That chair at three dollars is a real, genuine bargain, and–"

"You said three and a half before," Tom corrected.

"Did I? Well, it ought to be three and a half, but you may have it for three, even if I lose money on it."

"No fear," grunted Steve. "We'll split the difference and call it two."

"Make it two-fifty and it's yours."

"Couldn't do it. Two or nothing."

"All right," said Durkin placidly. "Take it along. Now let me show you–"

"No, sir!" laughed Steve. "You don't show us another thing, Durkin. Pile the cushions on here, Tom, and take hold."

"Wait till I lock this door and I'll give you a lift," said Durkin.

Between them they got the chair upstairs and outdoors. Then Steve paid three dollars to Durkin and the transaction was completed.

"Thank you," said Durkin. "And, say, if you want anything else, you come and see me. I've got a lot of good stuff down there. And if you want to sell anything any time I'm your man. I'll pay you good prices, fellows. So long."

The two boys felt rather conscious as they carried the chair along the Row, but although they passed a good many fellows on the way, no one viewed their performance with more than mild interest. As they were about to lift their burden through the entrance of Billings, however, the door opened from inside and a tall boy with a 'varsity football cap on the back of his head almost ran into them. Drawing aside to avoid them, his eyes fell on the chair and he stopped short.

"Back again!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Good old article. Where'd you find it, fellows?"

"Bought it from a fellow named Durkin, in Torrence," replied Steve.

"So 'Penny' had it?" The chap lifted the cushions heaped on the seat of the chair and viewed it interestedly. "Well, you got a chair with a history," he said. "That belonged to me three years ago. I bought it from a fellow named Lansing, and he got it second-hand from a shop in White Plains. I sold it to Spencer Morris and I suppose Penny got it from him. And the old article looks 'most as good as new! Do you mind telling me how much you paid for it?"

"Two dollars," said Steve. "He wanted three at first."

The tall chap laughed. "Two dollars! What do you know about that? I paid a dollar and a half for it and sold it to Morris for a dollar. I'll bet Penny didn't give Spencer more than fifty cents for it. He's a wonder, he is! Those cushions aren't bad. I'll give you a half for the red one."

"We don't want to sell, thanks," said Steve.

"Well, if you do, let me know. I'm in 4. My name's Fowler." And he nodded and went on. Up in their room, when they had set the arm-chair down and placed it to their liking, Steve said:

"Think of that long-haired idiot getting two dollars out of us for this thing. I've a good mind to go back and tell him what I think of him."

"What's the difference?" asked Tom. "It's a perfectly good chair, and if we hadn't met that Fowler chap we'd never known we'd been stung. It's worth two dollars, anyway, no matter what Durkin paid for it."

"I suppose it is," granted Steve. "And it is comfortable. Look here; we'll have to have another one now, or we'll be scrapping to see who gets this!"

"Not if we can find a cushion for the window-seat," said Tom. "We might see some more of those fellows you have on your list."

"To-morrow," said Steve. "It's almost supper time. I guess we didn't do so badly for three dollars. Wasn't it funny, though, we should have run into a fellow who used to own it? Wonder who Fowler is."

"I saw him at the field this afternoon," replied Tom. "I guess he's on the first team. We could have made sixteen cents if we'd sold him the cushion he wanted."

"You're as bad as Durkin!" laughed Steve. "Wonder why he called him 'Penny,' by the way. The fellow had a regular second-hand shop down there, didn't he? Do you suppose all that truck in there belonged to him?"

"I don't know. I know one thing, though, and that is that I'm mighty glad I don't room with Durkin and have to listen to that fiddling of his!"