At least, he bought a bureau, a worktable, an old rocking chair with stuffed back and cushion, and last of all an old, age-darkened, birdseye maple desk, which seemed shaky and half-ready to fall to pieces.
“That article ought to bring ye in a forchune, Mr. Colesworth,” declared the auctioneer, cheerfully. “That’s where they say Bob hid his forchune–yessir!”
“And it looks–from the back of it–that worms had got inter the forchune,” chuckled one of the farmers, as the wood-worm dust rattled out of the old contraption when Harris and Lucas carried it out and set it down with the other articles Harris had bought.
“So you got it; did you, young man?” snarled a voice behind the two youths, and there stood Professor Spink.
He was much heated, his boots and trousers were muddy, and his frock coat had a bad, three-cornered tear in it. Evidently he had come across lots–and he had hurried.
“Why–were you interested in that old desk I bought in?” asked Harris with a grin.
“I’ll give ye a dollar for your bargain,” blurted out the professor.
“I tell you honest, I didn’t pay but two dollars for it,” replied Harris.
“I’ll double it–give you four.”
“No. I guess I’ll keep it.”