Page:The fighting scrub, (IA fightingscrub00barb).pdf/55

Although on the third floor and on the opposite side of the building from Clif's room, Number 34 was a replica of it. The only noticeable difference was in the amount of floor space. Number 34 seemed smaller. But Clif soon saw that this was due to a leather couch which, at present occupied by Billy, thrust out from the end of the study table like a sore thumb. It had a history, that couch. Billy had bought it last term from a departing owner who, in turn, had purchased it three years before from some one else. Beyond that point it could not be traced, but it looked every day of twenty years! Its brown leather covering was missing in many places and torn in others, and wherever this was the case the stuffing of tow protruded pathetically. It had been tufted at one time, but the buttons had long since disappeared. While it probably retained the same number of springs with which it had started, most of them had ceased functioning. A few had not, however, and it was those few which made it extremely difficult for the stranger to occupy the couch with any degree of comfort. They stuck up at unexpected places and, in collusion with the slippery surface of the well-worn leather, had deposited many an unwary visitor on the floor. But Billy was very fond of that relic, very proud of it, and was still convinced that when he had exchanged three dollars and twenty-five cents for it he had consummated a master stroke of finance. With the aid of two faded, lumpy pillows—thrown in with the couch for good measure—he occupied a sort of trough down the center of the antiquity and, with the