I shook my head in puzzled desperation.
"Come on, let's go back and look anyway. There's no harm in seeing if he has one."
We went back and there amid pork and molasses barrels, old papers, boxes and signs, was furniture in considerable quantity—tables, rocking-chairs, washstands, bureaus—all cornered and tumbled about.
"Why, here are rocking-chairs, lots of them," I exclaimed. "Just the kind I want! He said he didn't have any."
"Gar! I dunno," replied the clerk. "Here's a table, but I wouldn't dare sell it to you."
"Why should he say he didn't have a rocking-chair?"
"Gar! I dunno. He's goin' out of the furniture business. He don't want to sell any. I don't know what he intends to do with it."
"Well," I said in despair, "what about the table? You can sell that, can't you?"
"I couldn't—not till he comes back. I don't know what he'd want to do about it."
"What's the price of it?"