"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."