"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.