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48
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS

Phil, in disgusted tones. "I'm going to frame that."

"We'll have to have a new frame for the couch if Tom does any more of his gymnastic stunts," declared Frank, as he loked to see what damage had been done. "The back's nearly broken again," he added.

"Kindly forgive me," spoke the pitcher, in contrite tones. "But those two hulks have the armchairs, and I wanted some place to rest. I guess we'll have to invest in another chair, if that couch is only going to hold one."

"We will not, you vandal!" exclaimed Phil. "Sit on the alarm clock, if you want to, or flop down on the floor, or to go to bed; but you don't go getting any new, modern, ugly, incongruous furniture into this den."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Tom hastened to explain. "I meant pick up a second-hand one somewhere."

"That mightn't be so bad," admitted Frank.

"But say, what ails you, anyhow?" went on Tom, turning to the Big Californian, as though to change the subject. "I was asking you that when they raised this row about the old couch."

"Don't you call that an 'old couch' unless in terms of the deepest respect!" cried Phil.

"I meant it strictly in the Pickwickian sense," Tom hastened to explain. "But, Frank, is there anything up?"