their amateur collections.

Mr. Van Styne was a white-haired, long-whiskered, thin man who sat tilted
back in a broken-through rush-bottom chair that had never had a bid at
his weekly auctions, hence it was put to some use in his office to pay
for storage. His feet were resting on the flat-table-desk in front of
him, and he was sweetly snoring when the girls opened the door of the
room.

Such an unheard of thing as customers in the early part of the afternoon,
caused him to jump up and remove his aged straw hat that had been tilted
over his eyes to keep out the sun-light.

"We came to see if we could find anything in your salesroom," began Mrs.
Fabian, noting the dust that lay thick on everything, and the heaped up
motley collection of family possessions displayed in the long adjoining
stable-room.

"What kind of furniture do you need?" asked he, stifling a yawn.

"Why, anything old enough to be interesting. We heard that you were a
wizard in finding antiques for people."

The proprietor disclaimed such power, and said with a grin that displayed
several gaps in his yellowed teeth, "You can mosey about, out there, to
your heart's content. If you find anything likely, call me an' I'll tell
you what it's wuth."

He waved his arm to the long stacked-up storeroom, and then sat down
again. In another moment his feet were up on the desk and his hat tipped
down over his eyes. His hands were calmly folded over his waist-coat and
he settled down to snooze, once more.

The girls giggled aloud and hurried after Mrs. Fabian to keep from
laughing outright at the ambitious salesman. They prowled about and
pulled out lots of things and examined many other old articles, soiling
their gloves and dresses, without finding a thing that was of any value.

Finally Polly dragged out an old walnut chest of drawers to see what was
stored back of it, that kept it so far away from the wall. She discovered
a group of large, framed pictures standing against the wall, evidently
forgotten by the auctioneer, as they were covered with a thick coating of
dust.

"Come and help me lift these out, will you, Nolla?" called Polly, as
Eleanor stood waiting for something new to look at.

In another moment, both girls were hauling out the mass of pictures,
whose wires and screw-eyes were so entangled that to get at one, you had
to drag all out at the same time.

"My goodness! Just look at our hands!" exclaimed Eleanor, holding up such
dirty hands