hearts sank, and they hardly dared ask the next question.
"Let's see a good, old-fashioned, easy chair. We don't care whether it's early Flemish or late Irish," said Phil.
"Something like the one you had in your window the other day," put in Tom. "A friend of ours saw that one, and told us about it. We'd like to look at that."
The dealer, who had been marching hopefully toward the rear of his shop, suddenly paused. He turned around and looked at the boys.
"Were you meanin' a big chair, with reddish-brown velour on it, and"
"Claw legs!" interrupted Sid, eagerly.
"And lions' heads on the arms," put in Phil.
"That's it!" cried Tom. "Where is it? Show us that one!"
The dealer glanced at them sharply.
"Well, now I'm monstrous sorry," he began apologetically, "but I just traded that chair—traded it last night..
"Traded it?" gasped Frank.
"Last night?" echoed Sid.
"Yes," went on the dealer. "I had no call for it. You see, that old-fashioned upholstered stuff is out of date. What folks want now is real antiques like Louis the Fourteenth, or Mission.
