"You wait there," he instructed, "until I switch the light on.

Now then, this way." Durkin took a key from a nail and unlocked the door of a room partitioned off in a corner of the basement.

The boys waited, and Durkin, having disappeared into the gloom of the storeroom, presently reappeared, dragging after him a very dusty brown-oak chair with a slat back, broad arms and a much-worn leather seat.
"There you are," he said triumphantly, pushing the object into the faint gleam of light which reached them from the foot of the stairs.

"There's a chair that'll last for years." "But you said it was a Morris chair," exclaimed Tom.

"That's no Morris chair!" "Oh, yes, it is," Durkin assured them earnestly.