His face was lighted by a faint smile as he said, “It will take ten days to repair it, and it will cost you fifteen dollars.” An outlay of fifteen dollars on a watch that was not fit for an ashheap! I stammered some excuse and took my departure. All my faculties were now awake, and the course of procedure was plain. I made haste to the Quaker’s office. I stood out on the wharf and, looking through the window, saw him, apparently as placid as ever, at work at his desk. I had determined to give him a perfect blast, and, while I was trying to summon the language I proposed to use, some one spoke to me. It was my old friend, the shipkeeper. He saw that I was disturbed and asked the cause. I told him my story and finished by declaring that I was going into the office and upbraid the Quaker for his treatment of me. “I wouldn’t do that,” said my companion, “until I had been to another jeweler. There are two things a man can buy and never know what he’s buying—one’s a horse and the other is a watch. Another jeweler may tell you a different story. Suppose you go to one.” This advice had an excellent effect, and I followed it. I sought an old watchmaker and silversmith who had a long established record for skill and honesty. There was something fatherly about him, and his face always wore a pleasant expression. His examination was slow and thorough. When completed, a smile spread over his countenance, as he said: “That’s a fine watch, and there is nothing the matter with it. The trouble is you forgot to wind it last night.”