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 "Oh, then it cost seventy-five cents?"

"Why, certainly," said Dad. "I do wish that you would try to use some common sense, Chester, instead of having to have everything explained to you, as if you were five years old!"—and then he went off down the store again.

When I had my packages done up and Bess had her key ring,—she had found her purse in her blouse instead of her pocket,—we went over to the furniture store to look for a desk. We got just about discouraged, because everything was so expensive, and were about ready to think that we would have to decide upon something else, when the furniture man said,—

"Say, I've got one here that I can sell you cheap if you can use it. The pigeon-holes got broken in shipping; and the house gave me a rebate on it, rather than have it sent back. I'm no good at little delicate jobs like that;—I can tackle a sofa or a table, but a thing of that kind would take me longer than it's worth;—and it's been here more 'n a year, now. If you think you can fix it up, you can come down here and do it, and use my tools,—and you can have it at your own price."