“I was passing a second-hand store, the proprietor of which also does upholstering as a side line,” went on Frank, “when, happening to glance into the left-hand—no, I think it was the right-hand—window, I espied——”
“Oh, put on more steam!” begged Tom.
“I saw a chair,” went on the Californian, “a chair that I am sure must be yours. It was exactly as you have described it. I thought it looked to be quite a relic.”
“Where is that second-hand place?” cried Phil and Tom in a breath, while Sid grew so excited that he grabbed Frank by the arm, and held to him as if he, too, might vanish as had the chair. “Where is it? Where is it?”
“In Haddonfield, on a little side street that runs up from the depot. I don’t know the name of it,” answered Simpson.
“Decker Street,” supplied Tom. “About the only place we didn’t look, fellows. I didn’t know there was a second-hand place there.”
“There’s only this one!” said Frank. “But he has your chair!”
“Hurrah!” cried Phil. “On the trail at last! Where’s my cap?” and he began looking about the room.
“Where you going, this time of night?” demanded Dutch.