For the Honor of Randall Part 26

"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," a.s.sented Tom.

With a more cheerful air than his friends supposed he could a.s.sume under the circ.u.mstances, 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