THE AUCTION
There was an eager pressing forward on the part of all in the room.
Frank stood facing his chums and companions, a curious look on his face.
“So this is what he’s been up to all this while,” murmured Phil.
“He gave us the double cross,” commented Sid.
“Oh, go ahead, unveil the statue,” suggested Holly. “This suspense is
terrible!”
With a sudden pull Frank whisked the sheet to one side, and there
followed a gasp of astonishment. For a moment no one spoke. Surprise
held them dumb. Then Tom found his voice.
“Oh mudlarks!” he cried feebly.
“Paregoric!” came faintly from Sid.
“Catch me, somebody, before I faint!” gasped Phil, as he staggered back
into the arms of Dutch Housenlager, who promptly deposited him on the
floor.
And well might the three chums give vent to ejaculations of surprise,
dismay and anguish.
For there, in place of the old sofa that had served them in calm and
storm, in stress of disaster and in the joys of victories, there stood a
new and shining piece of furniture--spick and span in bright green
plush, with a glossy mahogany frame--a davenport, large, roomy,
comfortable--the acme of luxury. The old sofa had been metamorphosed--it
had suffered a “sea change into something new and strange,” as Holly
quoted afterward.
“Wha--what has happened?” asked Phil weakly, rubbing his eyes to make
sure it was not a vision of the night.
“Can I believe my senses?” asked Sid.
“He told us he had a surprise,” murmured Tom slowly, “and it sure is.”
“Well, how do you like it, fellows?” asked Frank, after a momentous
pause. “I thought, as long as I had broken the other sofa, that it was
up to me to get a new one. We’ve been needing one a long time, and when
I found that the other couldn’t be fixed very well, I just had the
furniture man bring in this new one. It’s my treat. That’s what I
telephoned about the night we went to the show. How do you like it?”
For a moment no one answered. Then Tom went slowly over to the new
davenport, and softly felt of the springy seat.
“It--it’s real,” he murmured, in disappointed tones.
Phil wet one finger, cautiously applied it to the green plush, and then
pretended to taste of his digit, as though he was a doctor, sampling
some new and rare kind of drug.
“Yes, it--it’s real,” he emitted with a sigh.
Sid carefully rubbed his handkerchief on the shining mahogany frame.
“I--I’m afraid so,” he agreed.
“Why, you mutts! of course it’s real,” gasped Frank. “It’s a new one in
place of the old sofa. That isn’t any good any more. This is a dandy.
Four of us can sit on it at once, the man said, and it won’t sag or
break. Don’t you like it?”
“What--what did you do with our old one?” asked Tom solemnly. “Be
careful now. Think well before you answer, and remember that whatever
admissions you make may be used in court against you.”
“Why--why----” stammered Frank.
“Answer the question!” demanded Sid sternly.
“Where’s our old sofa?” asked Phil.
“The janitor took it away, when you were out,” replied the conspirator.
“Why--why, don’t you like this one?”
The three shook their heads. Then Tom said softly:
“Can’t you see, Frank? It doesn’t fit in. It doesn’t go with the rest
of the things in the room? It’s too new--too shiny. It’s like a modern
among the ancients. They clash!”
“Horribly!” shuddered Sid.
“It won’t do--it won’t do at all,” added Phil.
“I leave it to Holly--to Dutch--anybody,” burst out Frank. “It’s the
best I could buy.”
“Of course it is, old chap,” admitted Tom. “That’s just the trouble.
It’s too good--too nice--too new. It makes our rug, and the old
armchairs--to say nothing of the clock--look like a second-hand store in
the presence of a Louis the Fourteenth drawing room. It won’t do, old
man.”
For a moment Frank stared at the new piece of furniture. Then he sat
down on it, sinking low in its luxurious depths.
“It’s mighty comfortable,” he murmured.
“Where did you say the old one was?” asked Tom softly.
“I had the janitor carry it down to the cellar.”
“I wonder,” began Phil gently, “I wonder if we could get it up again
to-night, without making too much of a row? Somehow, I don’t like the
idea of eating a spread in here with that new davenport staring us in
the face. It’s like a stranger that hasn’t been properly introduced.”
“Oh, yes, I guess we can get the old one back,” agreed Frank, and,
somehow his voice did not show much disappointment that his surprise
had proved a boomerang. “I fixed it up, after a fashion, or, rather, I
had the janitor do it. I was thinking we might give it to him.”
“Give away our old sofa!” cried Phil, Tom and Sid in a chorus. “Never!”
“This one surely doesn’t fit in this room--not with your other antiques,”
ventured Holly Cross.
Frank got up, walked across the apartment, and took a survey of his
surprise. Then he slowly shook his head.
“Fellows, I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “It clashes--doesn’t fill
in right.”
“Then you won’t mind if we get the old one back?” asked Tom.
“No,” answered Frank softly. “I’ll go tell the janitor now. I--I guess
this can stay here for--er--well a day or two; can’t it?”
“Sure,” assented Tom.
With a more cheerful air than his friends supposed he could assume under
the circumstances, Frank threw the sheet back over the new sofa. Then he
went to summon the janitor.
Presently, while the crowd in the room was beginning to open the
packages of smuggled food, a noise was heard out in the corridor. Tom
threw open the door.
“Welcome home, wanderer!” he greeted, as the old sofa was brought in.
“Dear old friend,” murmured Phil, while Sid gently pushed with his hand
on the seat to ascertain if it would hold his weight.
“Wait,” Frank requested of the janitor. “I’ll help you carry this new
one out. There isn’t room for the two in here.”
“Ah, but sure it’s a shame to put that one down cellar,” objected the
janitor. “It’ll get all mildew.”
“It won’t be there long,” remarked Frank significantly, and when he came
back, after having helped dispose of the new davenport, he carried a
hammer and some tacks. He went to a desk and scribbled something on a
sheet of paper.
Then he went out in the hall, and, presently his friends heard a gentle
tapping on the door.
“What’s Frank up to now?” asked Tom. “Another surprise?”
Sid swung wide the portal, and disclosed the Big Californian in the act
of affixing a notice to the panels.
“What is it?” asked Phil.
“Read,” invited Frank.
And they read this:
AUCTION SALE
The undersigned will dispose of, at auction in the gymnasium
to-morrow afternoon, one brand new davenport, upholstered in
green plush. Same has never been used, but the present owners
desire to dispose of it. It will be sold, without reservation,
to the highest bidder.
FRANK SIMPSON.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” gasped Tom, as he read the notice.
Then they overwhelmed Frank with questions as they began to eat.