Upon inspection of the store the following morning Thomas I. Dunn, for the first time his friends could remember, expressed delight. Not even the bare walls, desperately in need of new paint, drew any criticism from his sharp tongue. Instead, Tom walked briskly from the front door through the store, into the next room, with his eyes peering over his glasses, and disappeared. They caught up to him in the kitchen, where he had just finished inspecting the bathroom and rear entrance.

"Charlie, old buddy, this is better than I ever dreamed possible. We couldn't find a place like this if we paid a couple of hundred bucks a month."

"My uncle said we could have it without rent until December. He usually rents it then for the holidays."

They all agreed that the store was terrific and Charlie Krauss was the hero of the day.

Then with a few more tours of the premises they set out to scrounge the neighborhood for furniture. They hadn't known this much enthusiasm since their early teens. Old chairs and tables were carted off from their basements in an old wagon and a dilapidated baby carriage. They confiscated lamps, knickknacks and ashtrays from their offices, restaurants and bars. The four made a systematic visit to all the cafeterias in the neighborhood and walked off with enough eating utensils, glasses, cups and saucers to serve a small army. And they were having a ball doing it.