"I'm stupid about things," said Susan.
Quinney strolled across the room, and selected two jars more or less alike in shape and paste and colour.
"Can you tell t'other from which?" he asked. "Look at 'em, feel 'em inside and out."
Susan obeyed, but after a minute she shook her head.
"Ain't they just alike, Joe?"
"Lord, no! One's the real old blue and white, hand-painted, and worth fifty pound. T'other is a reproduction, printed stuff, with a different glaze. Look again, my pretty!"
"This is the old one, Joe."
"No, it ain't. Slip your hand inside. Which is the smoother and better finished inside?"
"Yes, I feel the difference, but I don't see it. I wish I could see it."
"You will. I'm going to put a little chipped bit of the best on your toilet table. You just squint at it twenty times a day for one year, and you'll know something. That's what I'm doing with the earlier stuff, which is more difficult to be sure of, because it doesn't look so good. I wouldn't trust my judgment to buy it. That's Tomlin's job."