"CHEAP FOR CASH"
"Yes, we saw that you had a Morris chair," replied Steve. He glanced
perplexedly around the room. There was no Morris chair in sight, nor
were any of the other articles advertised to be seen. "That is, if
you're Durkin."
"That's me. The chair is downstairs in the storeroom. It's a corking
chair, all right, and you're sure to want it. I'm sorry, though, you
didn't get around before it got so dark, because the light down there
isn't very good."
"Well, we could come again in the morning," said Steve. "There's no
hurry."
"I think you'd better see it now," said Durkin with decision. "It is a
bargain and if you waited someone might get ahead of you. We'll go
down."
"Er--well, how much is it?"
"All cash?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"It makes a difference. Sometimes fellows want to pay part cash and part
promise, and sometimes they want to trade. If you pay cash you get it
cheaper, of course."
"All right. How much for it?"
Durkin looked the customers over appraisingly. "Let's have a look at it
before we talk about the price," he said. "If I said five dollars now,
when you haven't seen it, you might think I was asking too much."
"I surely would," replied Steve firmly. "If that's what you want for it
I guess there's no use going down to see it."
"I didn't say that was the price," answered Durkin. "I'll make the price
all right. You fellows come and see it." And he led the way out into the
corridor. Steve glanced questioningly at Tom, and Tom smiled and
shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, all right," said Steve. "Let's see it."
Durkin led the way to the lower hall and then down a pair of dark and
very steep stairs to the basement. "You wait there," he instructed,
"until I switch the light on. Now then, this way."
Durkin took a key from a nail and unlocked the door of a room
partitioned off in a corner of the basement. The boys waited, and
Durkin, having disappeared into the gloom of the storeroom, presently
reappeared, dragging after him a very dusty brown-oak chair with a slat
back, broad arms and a much-worn leather seat.
"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!"
"That's not much worse than your snoring," replied Steve unkindly.
The next day further search revealed a cushion which just fitted the
window-seat, not surprising in view of the fact that the window-seats
throughout the dormitories were fairly uniform in size. The cushion cost
them two dollars. It was covered with faded green corduroy and in places
was pretty well flattened out by much service. But it answered their
purpose and really looked quite fine when in place. Tom cast doubts on
the positive assertion of the seller that it was filled with genuine
hair, but Steve said that didn't matter as long as it was comfortable.
They piled their three pillows on it and stretched themselves out on it,
one at a time, and voted it good enough for anyone. There was a good
deal of dust in it, but, as Steve said, if they were careful about
getting up and down they wouldn't disturb it! By this time Number 12
began to look quite sumptuous. They had placed several framed pictures
and many photographs and trinkets against the walls and had draped the
tops of the chiffoniers with towels. They had also made up a list of
things to bring back with them after the Christmas holidays, a list that
included all sorts of articles from a waste-basket to an electric
drop-light. The latter they had not been able to find in their
bargain-hunting and could not purchase in the village even if they had
sufficient money. Their pocketbooks were pretty lean by the time they
had been there a week, for, beside the expenditures for furnishings,
they had, between them, paid two dollars for a year's subscription to
the school monthly, and had made quite an outlay for stationery. Tom, in
fact, was practically bankrupt and had sent an "S. O. S.," as he called
it, to his father.
Meanwhile, every afternoon save Sunday they donned their togs and toiled
on the gridiron. Mr. Robey was already bringing order out of chaos and
the sixty-odd candidates now formed a first, second and third squad.
Steve and Tom both remained in the latter for the present, nor did Tom
entertain much hope of getting out of it until he was dropped for good.
Steve had made something of a reputation as a player at home, and his
former team-mates there firmly expected to hear that he had made the
Brimfield 'varsity without difficulty and was showing the preparatory
school fellows how the game ought to be played. Tom, too, expected no
less for him, and perhaps, if the truth were known, Steve entertained
some such expectations himself! But Tom wasn't deceived as to his own
football ability and was already wondering whether, when he was dropped
from the 'varsity squad, he would be so fortunate as to make his hall
team.
But there was a surprise in store for both of them. The first cut came
about ten days after the opening of school, and the candidates dwindled
from sixty-odd to a scant fifty. Steve's surprise lay in the fact that
he was not promoted to the second squad, Tom's to the even more
startling circumstance that he survived the cut!
Eric Sawyer had been relieved from his superintendence of the awkward
squad and had gone to his old position of right guard on the first team.
The third squad was now under the care of a youth named Marvin, a
substitute quarter-back on last year's second team. He was a cheerful,
hardworking little chap and the "rookies" took to him at once. He was
quick to find fault, but equally quick to applaud good work, and under
his charge the third squad, composed now of some fourteen candidates,
began to smooth out. A half-hour session with the tackling dummy was now
part of the daily routine and many a fellow who had thought rather well
of himself suffered humiliation in the pit. Steve was one of these.
Tackling proved to be a weak point with him. Even Tom got better results
than he did, and every afternoon Steve would scramble to his feet and
wipe the earth from his face to hear Marvin's patient voice saying: "Not
a bit like it, Edwards. Don't shut your eyes when you jump. Keep them
open and see what you're doing. Once more, now; and tackle below the
knees." And then, when the stuffed figure had been drawn, swaying
crazily, across the square of spaded turf once more, and Steve had
leaped upon it and twisted his arms desperately and convulsively about
it, "That's a little better," Marvin might say, "but you'd never stop
your man that way."
Steve was getting discouraged about his tackling and a little bit
incensed with Marvin. "He takes it out on me every time," he confided to
Tom one afternoon after practice. "Lots of the fellows don't do it a bit
better and he just says 'Fair, Jones' or 'That's better, Freer,' and
that's all there is to it. When it comes my turn, he just makes up his
mind I'm not going to do it right and then rags me. Didn't I do it just
as well as you did to-day, Tom?"
Tom, intensely loyal though he was, had to shake his head. "Maybe you
did, Steve; I don't do it very well myself, but you--you don't seem to
get the hang of it yet. You will, of course, in a day or two. I don't
believe Marvin means to rag you, though; he's an awfully decent fellow."
But Tom's day or two stretched into a week or two, and one by one
fellows disappeared from the awkward squad, some to the private walks of
life and the consolation of hall football and some, fewer in number
these, to the squad ahead. Brimfield played its first game of the year
one Saturday afternoon with Thacher School, and came through with flying
colours. But Thacher presented a line-up considerably younger and
lighter than Brimfield's, and the victory brought no great glory to the
Maroon-and-Grey. Steve and Tom watched that contest from the side-line,
Tom with absorbed interest and Steve rather disgruntedly. His visions
had not included any such situation as this!
That evening Steve made his first big mistake.