The establishment of the master copyist much impressed Quinney on account of its size. The visitors were shown everything, and the proprietor said to Mrs. Quinney:
"Vous voyez, madame, je ne cache pas mon jeu, moi."
"What's he sayin'?" asked Joe.
Le Marchant answered.
"He assures us that he's not a faker."
They beheld tanks of acid in which new ironwork was placed. In a few hours or days the corroding acid achieved the work of years. There were piles of wood, new and old, awaiting treatment. Quinney asked if there was a worm-holing machine. He had heard that one had been patented. The proprietor laughed.
"The worms themselves do the work here, monsieur."
Then he placed in Joe's hands two wooden candle-sticks.
"One of these," said he, "is genuine, and worth its weight in gold, a fine specimen of the sixteenth century. The other was made here within a year. Which is which?"
"Lawsy!" said Quinney. "I ought to know."