The Coin Show

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In 500 words, tell a story in which a character struggles to compete. Written for the Weekend Write-In Challenge: "Compete" — 26-28 February 2016.

A memoir from my coin-dealing days. Bruce is a fictitious name to protect the guilty.


Numismatic Dealings

I listened to Bruce, the dealer at the next table, as he offered the elderly lady six hundred.

"That's one of the best so far," she said, fidgeting with the small cloth bag and keeping her eyes on the three coins laying on the display case and the one Bruce was holding. "I'll go ask a bit further. The prices seem all over the place."

Bruce placed the fourth coin on the case. "Seven hundred," he said as he watched her picking them up.

"I'll probably be back." She nodded along the aisle toward the entrance. "That nice chap at the registration table told me to ask at least six dealers."

"Seven hundred and fifty," he said, as she began to move toward my table.

I watched as she hesitated, looking at her little bag then up to the dealer's eyes. "Why didn't you offer that at the beginning?" She tilted her head and glared at him, then turned and walked the short distance to my table.

"These were in the pocket of an old coat in the attic." She held up the bag. "My grandmother's, we think."

I slid the velvet jeweller's pad toward her, but before I had a chance to tell her to be careful, she poured the bag's contents onto it. I grimaced at the sounds of coins against coins.

I picked up my loupe and examined each one, giving commentary as I went, then consulted my price sheets. "I can give you nine thousand for them now, but you..."

"You mean hundred, don't you?" She shook her head and looked at me.

"No, nine thousand," I said, picking up the Ten Cents piece again to loupe more carefully. "But you may wish to consign them to my next auction. I can guarantee you that much. You'll likely get more. If you need money now, I can give you an advance against sales."

She stood staring at me, slowly nodding as I pulled four flips from my box and placed a coin in each. "Two of these are uncirculated. Banging them around together reduces their value. I'm so pleased you didn't clean them before you brought them to the show."

"My daughter said we shouldn't. Said she saw it on an Antiques Roadshow."

I handed her the four folded flips. "Go get some more offers. I'm confident you'll be back."

"That was nine thousand?" She looked at me for confirmation.

"Yes, and most likely more from my auction."

She took her coins and crossed the aisle to work along the other side.

Bruce leaned over the divider. "What the hell you doing? Trying to bankrupt yourself?"

"No, giving fair value. You need to learn to grade. Also to polish your knowledge of varieties."

"What did I miss?"

"The 1885 is Obverse 5."

"You could have scooped the lot for a thousand," Bruce said.

"Yes, or waited and scooped the two I wanted for less from whomever she sold to. But that doesn't give her fair value."

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