"Turn over; you're on your back," advised Tom, as he got down on his hands and knees to peer under the beds.
"What are you looking for?" demanded Phil.
"Our old armchair, of course. I thought maybe some of the fellows had been in here trying to be funny, and had hidden it. But it isn't here—it's gone."
"As if it could be under a bed!" exploded Sid, rubbing his leg reflectively. "You must be getting batty!"
"Maybe he thought it could be reduced to fractions or acted on by chemicals, like some of the stuff in the laboratory test tubes," went on Phil.
"That's all right!" fired back the varsity pitcher, rather sharply, "it's gone, isn't it? Our old armchair, that stood by us, and"
"And on which we stood when we couldn't find the stepladder," interrupted Phil.
"Oh, quit your kidding!" expostulated Tom. "The old chair's gone; isn't it?"
"You never said a truer word in all your life, my boy," declared Sid, more gravely.
"Sort of queer, too," declared Phil. "It was here when we went out to football practice, and now"
"Well, all I've got to say is that I'd like to find the fellow who took it!" broke out Tom, dramat-
