Mrs. Davis fetched a pencil and slate, and Captain Jackman, in the time that the well-known poet, Smithson, takes to turn out a sonnet, safe in the applause of fifty other Smithsons, had made out a really handsome dinner for those days of plain dishes. He then left the inn, and walked slowly up the High Street, looking into the shops on either hand, until he came to a jeweller's shop, at which he made a stand. After inspecting the furnished window, he entered, and said to a bald-headed man behind the counter-- 'This is a little place for a big order.' 'I hope not, sir. There may be larger shops, but there are not a better class of goods.' 'I want the very best,' said Captain Jackman, looking darkly at the bald head. 'Show me the best bracelets in your possession.' 'At what price?' stammered the old fool. 'I said the best,' thundered Captain Jackman, 'and I want one without delay.' The man with the bald head produced a number of bracelets. They were not very good. He knew it, and did not make much of them. The captain pish'd and tossed them, and was going, when the bald-headed man cried out suddenly, as to an inspiration-- 'I beg your pardon, sir. Six months ago, a family in this neighbourhood failed, and amongst the stuff sold was their jewellery. Some of it came into my hands. I can let you have the most magnificent bracelet you ever saw, providing that you don't care that it is second-hand, and I will give you a guarantee that I will return the money should the lady find out that it was ever worn.' 'Right,' said the captain. The man disappeared, and the captain stood in the shop door looking at the town; then returned on the jeweller re-entering. The man, with a proud eye, placed on the counter a very beautiful bracelet, of old pattern, sparkling with diamonds and precious stones, massive, and wrought into some device of serpent. 'London shall not beat this, sir,' said the shopkeeper. 'This suits me,' answered Captain Jackman. 'How much?' The shopkeeper had clearly just made up his mind. 'It is a second-hand article, sir. I'll not charge you more than forty-five guineas.' The captain carefully examined the thing. He admired it hugely; it was probably a hundred years old, and was, perhaps, cheap at a hundred guineas. It was a beautiful gift for a beautiful woman, and the captain, putting it down, pulled out a handful of gold. The bald-headed jeweller stared at the sight of so much money. He was to stare at another handful before forty-five guineas could be told. 'Pack it,' said Captain Jackman, in the abrupt commanding manner of the sea; 'and give me a pen and ink and paper, that I may send a letter with it.' The jeweller cleared a little table for him, and set a chair at it, and the captain began to write. It was a fine, dashing hand, a gentleman's hand.