Ten: chipped.
Eleven: moderate wear.
Twelve: excellent.
Her neighbor stared at the row.
“You’re sitting on money.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop saying maybe.”
“I haven’t sold anything.”
He pointed at the second blade.
“That’s money.”
“That’s steel.”
“Worth money.”
“When someone pays.”
He shook his head.
“Your father ruined you.”
The farmer smiled.
“Probably.”
She called the manufacturer.
Three transfers later she reached a technical representative old enough to know the product.
“You actually have twelve?”
“Yes.”
“With original carbide bars?”
“Yes.”
“Photographs?”
“I can send.”
She did.
He called back forty minutes later.
“Where did you get these?”
“County auction.”
He laughed.
“They haven’t run those in years.”
“Are they usable?”
“The carbide is.”
“Mounts depend on what you want.”
“Who buys them?”
“Collectors don’t.”
She frowned.
“Not really a collector thing.”
“Mining outfits.”
“Private road contractors.”
“Some airports.”
“Rural counties that still run old moldboards.”
“Mostly they want the cutting bars, not the entire blade.”
“Value?”
He hesitated.
“I can’t appraise private property.”
“Estimate.”
“New custom carbide edge today could run four to seven thousand depending on length.”
“These are used.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe fifteen hundred to three thousand each if good.”
The farmer calculated.
The equipment buyer had been right.
Possibly more.
The representative added:
“Don’t sell before you inspect the steel backing.”
“Why?”
“Some of those used a high-boron wear plate behind the carbide.”
“Worth?”
“Not gold.”
“But useful.”
She smiled.
“Useful is enough.”
Then came the first offer.
The older equipment buyer from the auction drove onto her farm at noon.
He did not call first.
That irritated her.
He got out holding coffee.
“Thought I’d save you some trouble.”
She looked toward the blades.
“What trouble?”
“Selling.”
“I haven’t decided to sell.”
He laughed.
“Everything sells.”
“Not always.”
He walked around the cleaned blade.
“Looks good.”
“Yes.”
“How many like this?”
“Enough.”
“I’ll give you six thousand for all twelve.”
She stared.
He smiled.
“Cash.”
“You told me they might be worth thirty.”
“That was before transport.”
“I transported them.”
“Before cleaning.”
“I cleaned them.”
“Before finding buyers.”
“I found manufacturer records.”
The smile faded.
“Eight.”
“No.”
“Ten.”
“No.”
“You paid two-fifty-five.”
“That has nothing to do with current value.”
“It has everything to do with profit.”
“To you.”
He stared.
She crossed her arms.
“You’re offering me less than one-third of what you estimated in the county yard.”
“That was retail.”
“You said maybe thirty.”
“I was talking best case.”