"Rosenkranz," replied Jerry. "But he hasn't got any more sofas. We bought the last one."
"Has he any chairs?" inquired Sid.
"A raft of them."
"And his place is in Rosedale, and not Rosevale?" spoke Tom.
"That's it," the Jersey twin asserted. "The two places are in opposite directions. I guess we ought to know. Joe and I were out on a walk one day, and we saw the sofa in his window. He has his shop in one side of his house—a queer old place with a lot of Russian brasses. He had one samovar that was a pippin, but he wanted eight dollars for it, and the sofa broke us."
"Fellows!" cried Tom, excitedly, "I believe we are on the right track at last!"
"Track of what?" demanded Jerry.
"Our chair," and Tom quickly told what little was known. "It's evident," he said, "that the Yankee dealer got twisted between Rosevale and Rosedale. They're as alike as two peas."
"Then it's Rosedale for ours as soon as we can get there in the morning!" cried Phil. "This time I hope we're on the right trail.
"Yes, we've been in the right church, but the wrong pew, so often that it's getting to be monotonous," commented Sid.
Mr. Rosenkranz proved to be a Hebrew gentleman of the old-fashioned type—venerable,
