"He has wronged you. The can is not his."
"He says he made it."
"Liar! He never curved it in the piece."
"I don't much care whether he did or not. It is mine now, anyhow."
"It is my brother's can. No other hand made it. Look! Do you see this notch on the piece of sheet iron where the handle is fastened to the sides?"
"I do."
"Is it not shaped like a diamond?"
"It is."
"By that mark I identify it. My brother cuts that diamond-shaped notch in all the work he puts out from his hands. It is his private mark. The shopkeepers have knowledge of it. There is a value on the cans with that notch shaped like a diamond. This man here makes cans when he is not drunk, but the notch to them is square. The shopkeepers have knowledge of them, too, for they do not last. The handles fall out of them. He has never given his time to the art, and so does not know how to rivet them."
"She vilifies me," said Mac-an-Ward, sotto voce.