I was in search of a rocking-chair one day and was directed to Burridge's as the only place likely to have any!
"Do you keep furniture?" I inquired.
"Some," he said.
"Have you a rocking-chair?"
"No, sir."
A day or two later I was in search of a table and on going to Burridge's found that he had gone to a neighboring city.
"Have you got a table?" I inquired of the clerk.
"I don't know," he replied. "There's some furniture in the back room, but I don't know as I dare to sell any of it while he's away."
"Why?"
"Well, he don't like me to sell any of it. He's kind of queer that way. I dunno what he intends to do with it. Gar!" he added in a strangely electric way, "he's a queer man! He's got a lot of things back there—chairs and tables and everything. He's got a lot more in a loft up the street here. He never seems to want to sell any of 'em. Heard him tell people he didn't have any."