I’m told a well-dressed man in a big car with New York license plates pulled into the driveway of a Maine farmhouse. Marched up to the door big as brass and knocked. He asked the farmer: “Does your wife hook rugs?”
“She does.”
“May I see them?”
“Why not.”
The New Yorker walks room to room scrutinizing the beautiful hand-hooked rugs. “I’ll buy all you have,” he told the farmer.
Farmer said: “You got a wife?”
“Yes.”
“She ain’t crippled up?”
“No.”
“Get her to hook you some.”
“She does.”
“May I see them?”
“Why not.”
The New Yorker walks room to room scrutinizing the beautiful hand-hooked rugs. “I’ll buy all you have,” he told the farmer.
Farmer said: “You got a wife?”
“Yes.”
“She ain’t crippled up?”
“No.”
“Get her to hook you some.”
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