ed over the coming change.

At last he roused himself.

"Better leave things to Winters now and come upstairs with me," he said
to Drew. "There's a heap of stuff up there, and we want to figure on
where we're going to stow it all in the new place."

Drew followed him and they mounted to the second floor. Here the
surplus stock was held in reserve, and there was nothing that could be
dispensed with. But the third floor held a bewildering collection that
made it a veritable curiosity shop. When they reached this, Drew
looked about and was inclined to agree with Winters in classifying it
as "junk."

All the discarded and defective stock of the last twenty years had
found a refuge here. And in addition to this debris there was a pile
of sailors' boxes and belongings that reached to the roof. Tyke had a
warm spot in his heart for sailormen, especially if they chanced to
have sailed with him on any of his numerous voyages; and when they were
stranded and turned to him for help they never met with refusal.

In some cases this help had taken the form of money loans or gifts. At
other times he had taken care of the chests containing their meagre
belongings, while they were waiting for a chance to ship, or perhaps
were compelled to go to a hospital.

In the course of a score of years, these boxes had increased in number
until now they usurped a great part of the space on that upper floor.
Drew had often been on the point of suggesting that they be got rid of,
but as long as they did not encroach on the space actually needed by
the business this thought had remained unspoken. Now, when they were
about to move and needed to have their work lightened as much as
possible, the time seemed opportune to dispose of the problem.

Tyke listened with a twinkle in his eye as Allen repeated the
suggestion of Winters that the contents of the floor be held for what
it would bring or given to the Salvation Army.

"Might be a good idea, I s'pose," he remarked. "Them old things ain't
certainly doing any one any good. An' yet, somehow, I've never been
able to bring myself to the point of getting rid of 'em. Seems as
though they were a sort of trust. Though I s'pose most of the boys
they belonged to are dead and gone long ago."

"I don't imagine there's anything really valuable in any of the
chests," remarked Drew.

"No, I don't think the hull kit an' boodle of 'em is worth twenty
dollars," acquiesced the old man. "Although