over here to Delmonico's--Jack dines here often, I know, 'cause he told me
so. I was at his quarters once myself, but 't was in the night. I am
completely bamboozled. Left home yesterday--brought up a couple of
thoroughbred dogs that the owner wouldn't trust with anybody but me, and
then, too, I wanted to see Jack."

I am not a colonel, of course, but promotions are easy with the major.

"Certainly; Jack lives right opposite. Give me your bag."

He refused, and rattled on, upbraiding me for not coming down to Crab
Island last spring with the "boys" when the ducks were flying, punctuating
his remarks here and there with his delight at seeing me looking so well,
his joy at being near enough to Jack to shake the dear fellow by the hand,
and the inexpressible ecstasy of being once more in New York, the centre
of fashion and wealth, "with mo' comfo't to the square inch than any other
spot on this terrestrial ball."

The "boys" referred to were members of a certain "Ducking Club" situated
within rifle-shot of the major's house on the island, of which club Jack
Hardy was president. They all delighted in the major's society, really
loving him for many qualities known only to his intimates.

Hardy, I knew, was not at home. This, however, never prevented his colored
servant, Jefferson, from being always ready at a moment's notice to
welcome the unexpected friend. In another instant I had rung Hardy's
bell,--third on right,--and Jefferson, in faultless evening attire, was
carrying the major's "carpet-bag" to the suite of apartments on the third
floor front.