their gaze was presented no indiscriminately-nailed-on boards or cleats, which they so well remembered. 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 our chair as soon as I sat in it and ran my hand under it. You could feel the board I put on, and when that was missing I knew something was wrong."
"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't ours, whose is it?"
"And where's yours?" asked Frank Simpson. "This mystery is only beginning, fellows."
"That dealer gave us the wrong chair," said Tom. "He must have another one in his shop."
"I don't believe so," declared Phil. "If he had had two he'd have mentioned 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 that Yankee 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.
