AMERICANS seem to be crazy over the word "antique." They clamor for antique furniture, antique silver, antique jewelry, antique linen, antique Oriental rugs; and in most cases they expect to pick them up "for a song" from some itinerant auctioneer or from some dealer in antiques who has a nasty little shop on an obscure side street, and whose white hair and evident age give them confidence to believe that his stock consists of heirlooms.

The amateur collector of antiques is almost without exception a victim easy to pluck. Enthusiasm and ignorance combine to make him credulous, and by the time his mistakes have educated him, his collecting days are over and his collection goes to the auctioneer for redistribution.

The difficulties of the American who tries to make a notable collection of antique Oriental rugs are almost insurmountable. The important pieces were long ago locked up in the museums and palaces of Europe, and the few examples in good condition that come occasionally on the market are snapped up at astoundingly high prices.

Small antique Caucasian, Mosul and Anatolian rugs from twenty-five to one hundred years old are still to be procured - if you are willing to pay the price; but most of the so-called antiques have had merely the first glare of newness rubbed off and less than ten years have passed since the wool left the backs of the sheep.

It must be admitted that many dealers through ignorance or cupidity encourage this "accursed thirst for antiquity" and make a practice of advertising antiques at prices that would be low for new rugs. Out of ten advertisements in New York newspapers, one Sunday last winter, by houses of high standing, six announced antique rugs; but, as a matter of fact, there was not a single genuine antique in any one of the offerings, and many of the so-called antiques were not even well washed, or else had not been washed at all.

Yet it is hardly fair to put all the blame on the dealers. It is the attitude of the purchasers that makes continued deception possible - almost inevitable. People demand antiques and absolutely insist on regarding as antique any rug the colors of which are subdued. And when it comes to weaving romantic history into a rug, they are quite the equal of any rug salesman. They buy to-day a Bokhara that not only is fresh from the loom but is sold as such, and in a few months after dust and dirt have dulled it, they call the attention of friends and acquaintances to "this extraordinary royal Bokhara (royal sounds well) that it is now impossible to duplicate, since the introduction of aniline dyes and the commercial spirit into the Orient."

I. Serebend, 6 feet by 4, with pronounced abrashes, at $ 85.

2. Modern Bokhara, 4 feet by 2, improved by washing, at $28.

3. Rare antique Guenje at $ 550.

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There are no "faked antiques" that an expert cannot quickly detect, but when I write "expert" I mean expert in the full sense of the word - not some amateur, who, having read Mumford, and listened to the yarns of Orientals as ignorant as himself, imagines that he is an authority - but a man who has lived with rugs for a generation, studying their moods and expressions under varying lights and varying atmospheric conditions, stroking their faces until his fingers become sensitive to age and quality of wool, buying and selling them until his judgment of values is exact and formed at first glance.

People don't expect to learn all about horses in a day. They have read enough horse-trading stories to appreciate the fact that the only good judge of horses is a man who has summered and wintered with them. Why should they imagine that some heaven-born faculty will enable them to outwit the wily itinerant dealer in Oriental rugs?

Unfortunately, pseudo-experts are many and most of them seem to thrive. A few weeks ago, one of them, a man of considerable general culture and decorative knowledge, who lectures interestingly about rugs and also adds to his income by assisting his clients in the purchase of rugs, entered one of the largest rug stores in the country. He wanted an antique about 10 x 15 for the dining-room of one of his customers, and his ideas as regards color and design were definite. Antiques 10 x 15 are not to be met with every day; but it chanced that the dealer had one that he could guarantee to be at least 200 years old. The pseudo-expert was delighted. He caressed the soft pile with enthusiasm, he pointed with delight to the various evidences of age - and then he asked the price.

"$ 16,000," was the answer. Mr. Pseudo-Expert gasped. "Why, I only expected to pay about $300," he said, when he finally realized that he had heard aright. The dealer can hardly be blamed for seizing the opportunity to give him a much-needed lesson on values, and this pseudo-expert departed a sadder, but a wiser man. Before leaving, however, he selected a modern washed rug. It will be interesting to know whether he was as honest with his client as the dealer had been with him.

Another pseudo-expert brought his clients with him and under his chaperonage they looked at a large number of rugs of the desired size. They finally picked out a medium-grade Tabriz not over six months old and in unusually bright colors.

"Are you sure that this is a genuine antique?" asked the clients.

"Indeed it is," responded the pseudo-expert; "it is one of the most superb Ispahans I ever saw, three hundred years old if it is a day."

To acquire an expert knowledge of Oriental rugs from books or magazine articles is impossible, and no set of rules can be laid down for the guidance of purchasers that will guarantee them against deception.