James Hutton Sells an Old Pitcher

James Hutton Sells an Old Pitcher

            James Hutton does not willing accept that Baxter will dash around a flea market at dawn and then spend the rest of the day cultivating the owners of the oldest abandoned building he can find in a …usually successful effort… to access that old structure and purchase “any old junk” he finds to be of interest inside of that …“so bad I almost wouldn’t DARE go up the stairs” (but he did) … decayed relic.

            James Hutton does not willingly accept that Peggy Abbott can be in the right place at the right time when one of his long practiced upon formal antiquarian customers has her antiques collection (where he has “placed things” for decades) crack under the stress of its future… when pitted against the passing of the family’s generational baton… and have Peggy turn up in my yard with a “plate that’s gold” (his words).

            For each of these two local antiques dealers he will promptly soar to a high in the sky perch and “watch”.  Should one of these fellow travelers stray into the open toting an unsecured prize “of merit”, he will descend and purloin as one hawk steals from another.  He will also descend ...to attend… the rumored “sale of my fresh picks” of a third local dealer, Lane Cooper, TWO DAYS before “Those others think the sale starts”.  Each of these named antiquarian locals may have their previous posts reviewed by clicking their labels.

            Hutton sits and grumbles in a plastic lawn chair after looking at the charger I bought from Peggy.  “I bought that… let’s see… in about 1979 say… at a Withington sale (Dick Withington summer auction) and sold it to her.  That’s my charger” he says.

            “Write me a check.” I say.

            He does.  And still sits.  And still grumbles.

            After a bit… “I’VE BEEN OVER TO LANES” he says… to change our summery seated outdoor antiquarian repose.

            “Did he let you in?”

            “Of course.  I just WENT in.  He had to come out to go in and I was already in there buying”.

            “He let you?”

            “He doesn’t CARE.  Doesn’t know either.  Come down and look”.

            I was now VERY interested for this hawk had Lane’s “my fresh picks” fresh picked BONES in his car TRUNK?

            He did too.

             There was some clutter… with the astral lamp on top.  “Cornelius Philadelphia 1842”.  Electrified.  Wrong shade.  “It can be yours.”  And was.  Nominally.  “He wouldn’t know an astral lamp even if he broke the shade” he said when I acted on the nominal price.

            Then I purchased more of Hutton’s “purloined from” Cooper’s sale.  Hutton was satisfied he had regained my attention… after his attention by me had been assailed by his local competition.  “One more.” He says and went up to the front seat of the car. Wrapped in a towel that he quickly took off, he hands me a small c.1800 Liverpool black transfer ware pitcher.  “Its cracked of course” he says.

            “Who cares” I say.  “It’s great”.

            “There’s more too.  Where that came from.  The lamp came from there too.  He took me by the house.  We’re going in after his sale.  I bought everything he got out of there so…  Can he EVER keep his mouth shut?

            “He doesn’t know what that is?”

            “Well.”

            “Right.  He just kept say “GIVE ME SUMP-THUN!”  And you did."

            “How do you know that?”

            “I buy from Lane."