“I saw your sign ‘antiques’ and thought perhaps I might have a look at them,” I continued, nothing daunted.
“Mister Eldridge ain’t to home, but if you want to go out to the barn you can see what he’s got,” she replied, without even turning her head to see what sort of a second-story man I might be.
Here was luck, however, for I could look over the stock in trade of this ambitious couple to my heart’s content, and I made haste to the barn, which I found converted into one of the most amazing junk-shops it has ever been my pleasure to explore.
Crowded together without rhyme or reason, and with no thought of display, were the goods and chattels of generations of Cape-Codders; tables, chairs, beds, sofas, ice-chests, a parlor organ, curtain rods, bits of carpet, crockery in all stages of dilapidation. On one of the tables a variety of hardware was strewn about, on one of the stiff-backed chairs reposed three old brass lanterns. A Rogers group on a kitchen table was flanked by a White Mountain ice-cream freezer on one side and a fine old fire bucket on the other. A four-poster, of apple-wood, with fluted posts terminating in pineapple tops, the wood in an excellent state of preservation, was the repository of a half-dozen pictures, three face-down, while one of the others disclosed itself as a really good copy of the engraving of Washington and his family. But to the casual observer, there seemed scarcely a piece of furniture or, in fact, anything which was sufficiently in repair to survive the journey to my house; furthermore, the rank and file of articles were of recent date and had no charm for the collector.
However, the very hopelessness of the quest whetted my appetite, and to the utter disgust of my family, I spent a good half-hour rummaging about, not only in the main part of the barn, but also in the stalls, and even in the hayloft, for the whole building was bulging with what seemed the cast-off furnishings of the entire Cape.
The result of my examination was a really fine ship’s lantern which I found in the loft; a pair of old pewter pepper pots, reclining in an old soap dish, and a couple of straight-back rush-seated chairs, a trifle rickety, but with the seats in excellent condition with the original rush plaiting, which is unmistakable.
For fear of mislaying my selection, I had brought them outside the barn, and at that moment a lanky, middle-aged farmer drove up in a buggy and slowly got out.