As to his title of "Major," no one in or out of the county could tell where it originated. He had belonged to no company of militia, neither had he won his laurels on either side during the war; nor yet had the shifting politics of his State ever honored him with a staff appointment of like grade. When pressed, he would tell you confidentially that he had really inherited the title from his wife, whose first husband, as was well known, had earned and borne that military distinction; adding tenderly, that she had been so long accustomed to the honor that he had continued it after her death simply out of respect to her memory. But the major was still interviewing Delmonico's flunky, oblivious of everything but the purpose in view, when I touched his shoulder, and extended my hand. "God bless me! Not you? Well, by gravy! Here, now, colonel, you can tell me where Jack Hardy lives. I've been for half an hour walkin' round this garden lookin' for him. I lost the letter with the number in it, so I came 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.