CHAPTER XXXIII
A GREAT FIND
The quarter-back let himself down critically and easily into the chair.He was not in it more than a few seconds, ere he arose quickly.
"It seems to fit, just as our chair did," he said, with a puzzled air."I can't tell----"
"It's _not_ our chair," insisted Tom. "Of course when you sit in it itdoesn't feel any different. But look here!"
He tilted it over backwards with a sudden motion.
"What are you trying to do?" indignantly demanded Sid. "Break it?"
"I'm going to look under the seat," replied Tom. "Don't you remember howI nailed a board on last term to hold it together?"
"That's right," agreed Sid. "And I put on a cleat near the back legs.See if that's there, Tom."
Tom had the underside of the chair exposed to view now. Eagerlythe lads peered forward. To their gaze was presented noindiscriminately-nailed-on boards or cleats, which they so wellremembered. Instead, there was a smooth brown covering of cloth,such as is put under most upholstered chairs.
"What did I tell you?" cried Tom, in triumph. "I knew this wasn't ourchair as soon as I sat in it and ran my hand under it. You could feelthe board I put on, and when that was missing I knew something waswrong."
"You're right, old man!" exclaimed Phil. "But if this isn't our chair,we've got its twin brother. I never saw two more alike. But if it isn'tours, whose is it?"
"And where's yours?" asked Frank Simpson. "This mystery is onlybeginning, fellows."
"That dealer gave us the wrong chair," said Tom. "He must have anotherone in his shop."
"I don't believe so," declared Phil. "If he had had two he'd havementioned it when we were out there. Besides, we would have seen it.Frank, are you sure this is the chair you saw in the shop window of thatYankee dealer?"
"No, I can't be sure of it, of course. It looks like it, though."
"Well, we certainly are up against it," declared Tom. "Wait a minute,I'll soon find out what it means."
He started from the room.
"Where you going?" called Sid.
"I'm going to see Rosenkranz and ask him about this mix-up."
"It's too late," declared Phil. "Rosenkranz is quite a distance towardhome by this time. We'll see him later--to-morrow, after the game. Butit sure is a queer mix-up. Who'd ever suppose there was another chairlike ours."
"This one is newer," announced Tom, who had turned it right side upagain, and was critically examining it.
"Not newer, I guess," said Phil. "Only it hasn't had the usage ours got.This is evidently of the same vintage, but has been reposing in someone's back parlor for centuries, with the curtains down and the blindsclosed to keep out the sun. But a fair exchange is no robbery, and Idon't know but what we're just as well off. We have a better chair thanours."
"I'd rather have our own," declared Sid.
"So would I," added Tom. "It sat easier," and he dropped into the chair,and lolled back critically.
"Here, give me a show at it," begged Sid. "I haven't had my sittingyet."
Tom arose reluctantly, and, as he did so, there came a knock on thedoor.
"Come!" cried Phil.
It was Wallops, the messenger.
"If you please," he said, "Captain Woodhouse wants you gentlemen to comeout on the gridiron at once, for practice."
"Of course!" cried Tom. "We were nearly forgetting that in the excitementover the chair. Tell the captain we'll be right out."
There was hard, snappy practice against the unfortunate scrub, and as itprogressed the captain and coach looked more gratified than at any timethat season.
"They're fit, all right," declare Kindlings, with sparkling eyes.
"I think they'll do," agreed Mr. Lighton, "but you've got the fight ofyour life ahead of you, old man."
"I know it--but we'll win!"
Tom and his three chums returned from practice for a brief rest beforethe game. It was a holiday, with no lessons or lectures to mar thesport.
"First shot at the chair!" cried Tom, as he burst into the room. Hethrew himself into the big piece of upholstered furniture. There was asudden cracking, breaking and tearing sound, and the whole bottom of thechair seemed to drop out. A cloud of dust arose. Tom was like a personwho had sat upon a barrel, the head of which had collapsed.
"Oh, wow!" he cried, as he vainly struggled to get up. "I say, can'tsome of you fellows give me a hand?"
"What's the matter, hurt?" asked Phil, anxiously.
"No, but I'm wedged in here as if I'd sat on a drum."
They pulled him out, and through the settling cloud of dust gazed at theruin.
"Now you have gone and done it," said Sid, reproachfully.
"I guess I have," admitted Tom, regretfully, as he moved the chair toone side. Several of the bottom boards were on the floor. On top ofthem, amid a little pile of dirt and splinters, was a folded paper. Tompicked it up. He knocked the dust from it and slowly and wonderinglyread several lines of writing on the front, and, as he read, a look ofbewilderment came over his face.
"Why--why, fellows!" he exclaimed. "Look--look here! A deed--an old deedgiven by Simon Hess to Jacob Randall, in consideration of--and so forthand so forth--for the purpose of--um--setting aside land on which toerect a college. Why, great Caesar's grandmother's pumpkin pie!" almostyelled Tom, "this is the missing quit-claim deed that everyone islooking for! The deed on which the title to the college depends! It wasin that old chair!"
The Winning Touchdown: A Story of College Football Page 33
