The shortest of the four flabby men, an oily sort of shabby gentleman, who was blind of an eye, and had very disordered red hair, and a bruise on the end of a very red nose, which looked like a birch knot growing upon a redder face, now came jauntily forward, and having doffed a much damaged hat, that sat on the side of his head with a challenging air, and approaching the major, who had arranged his uniform to the best advantage, spoke as follows:  “Long life t’yer ’onor, for me name’s Dinnis Finnigan, born on the banks of Lough Neagh, near Kerry; but for all that, as I says to myself, Dinnis yer jist as good an American as iver drew first breath on the soil.  And now, seein’ it’s yersel, Major Potter”—­

“Commonly called Major Roger Potter,” interrupted the major, with a bow.  “And since I see you seek me, I may say I’m the person.  I make no doubt you have heard of me.  I need not say how glad I am to see you, for that will be told you by my private secretary.”  Here the major turned round and cast a glance at me.

“The same man that wouldn’t hear of the likes o’ ye, major, would’nt be much of a politician.  Ye’r as wilcom as the flowers of May, jist,” resumed Mr. Dinnis Finnigan, who now disclosed the singular fact that, (Mr. Finnigan was a reformed member of the “Dead Rabbit Club,”) he now formed one of the Board of Common Council, where no man could vote better on a question of money.  Mr. Finnigan was evidently not dead to the importance of his office, for he promised no end of things in honor of the major, to the carrying out of which he pledged the city, and would with equal sincerity (for his mind was in a condition to make cities appear very small) have pledged the whole Union.

The major had for some moments been fixing his eyes upon Mr. Finnigan with a scrutinizing stare.  Suddenly his face became flushed, his eye quickened its glare, and he stammered out, “I know what belongs to good manners, and though you may be a councilman, Mr. Finnigan, my eyes, and they are good ones, tell me I have seen you before.”

“Faith, an’ that same’s not unlikely,” interposed the moist councilman.

“Aye, and when you went by the name of Greeley Hanniford, and followed an occupation that cost me all my money.”

Here Mr. Finnigan quickly interrupted by saying that as they had both attained to the position of gentlemen, it were best to adopt Bishop Hughes’ motto, and let bye gones be bye gones.  In truth the major recognized in Councilman Finnigan, the honest Quaker, Greeley Hanniford, who, with General Fopp, of “Pleasant-side Row,” had managed to relieve him of all his money during his first adventure in New York.

“But although he neither acted justly nor honorably towards me, our conditions have changed, and it does not become my high position to rake this thing up now, so let’s hope he is come an honest man, and a good politician!” thought the major, extending his hand to the moist councilman, who was not a little troubled at the old reminiscence.