Left End Edwards Part 13

"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 bas.e.m.e.nt. "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 part.i.tioned off in a corner of the bas.e.m.e.nt. 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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sed 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.