"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_.

"Then I am glad he has not sold me one of his own," said Festus Clasby.
"I have a fancy for the lasting article."

"You may be able to buy it yet," said the woman. "My brother is lying
sick of the fever, and I have his right to sell the Cans with the
Diamond Notch on the handles where they are riveted."

"But I have bought it already."

"This man," said the damsel, in a tone which discounted the husband,
"had no right to sell it. If it is not his property, but the property of
my brother, won't you say that he nor no other man has a right to sell
it?"

Festus Clasby felt puzzled. He was unaccustomed to dealing with people
who raised questions of title. His black brows knit.