I hope this information in regard to cleaning may be of value to many amateurs, to whom I wish good luck.
In case some curious minds may wonder how I account for the difference between the total given and the 500 pieces I stated I now have I do not mind disclosing that I sent a lot of it to a friend at New York who was anxious to exhibit his old family plate, and I learnt when he was last over that as the brightness I had been at such pains to secure militated, in his opinion, against the appearance of antiquity he had abstained from further cleaning, and that the pewter was now looking quite old.
I believe I must have earned that friend’s undying gratitude, for did I not provide him with his great-great-grandfather’s clock, and further spared him and shipped out an early dated Broadwood grand piano, which I had previously converted into a dressing-table, and which he has since discovered is the identical instrument that his great-great-grandmother used for the five-finger exercise?
THE TINSMITH
I have mentioned that on some occasions I found it necessary to send pewter to the manufacturers, but I have scores of pieces which only required slight repairs—soldering, straightening and reshaping—such as an accomplished tinsmith could manage. Fortunately I found the man of the hour, day, month, and year, and not far off, and I cannot say how much time I spent in his workshop. He was always very busy, and if I sent him anything to do I never knew when I should see it again, so I had to resort to taking it myself and waiting until it was finished, otherwise it would be half done and then laid aside while he went out to pick a lock, or put down while he mended a kettle or something that was most urgently required. Really the way he handled my pewter was terribly fascinating, making pieces so hot at times and putting them so close to his fire that I positively trembled for fear they would be ruined altogether, but he never made a mistake.
His favourite expression was, “You understand me,” so the reader will appreciate that these three words kept coming into his conversation in the most unexpected places. “It was a good job—you understand me—that church was burnt out. I got all the organ pipes; I’m using some of them in this solder—you understand me—about 18 cwt. of them altogether.”
I took him a big jug to have the handle soldered not long ago. I saw him start it and said I would call on my way back from the bank. I did so and found the job only partly done. By way of explanation he said:
“Mr. A. has been in about a freeze—you understand me.”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. What is a freeze?”
“A refrigerator for milk.”