When this was done, Mr. Tickler entered, and, after passing the usual compliments, proceeded, without further ceremony, to write a note to the landlord of the New York Hotel, returning thanks for his extreme generosity.  But not a word was said about the three dollars.  Mr. Tickler declared it would not do to lisp a word concerning it, as such would be in direct violation of the rules of etiquette common at this day.  Having despatched the note, the general set about relating what had taken place between himself and Glanmoregain, and expressing himself delighted at the opportunity of so soon displaying his prowess in war.  “Faith!” exclaimed Mr. Tickler, “every merchant will soon get him a general of his own.  By the love of my mother! now it’s just struck me:  perhaps I can get a small advance on the strength of my future services? for I am in arrears with my landlady, whose look of melancholy so admonishes me every time I enter the house, that I have for more than a week taken advantage of the back door.”  The general shrugged his shoulders, declared the will good enough to render the desired relief, but that the means were wanting.  To be out-spoken, he hinted to Mr. Tickler that, in the event of joining his service, it must be upon the condition that he depend on the fortunes of war for his reward.  As to the hostess, he declared that he had not a doubt of her being a very excellent lady, as hostesses ought to be.  Still, he gave it as his opinion, that it were much better political economy to leave the poor woman’s house with a small bill unpaid, than eat himself into a large one.  He further suggested that when the time came, he pack up and leave as quietly as possible, neither looking to the right nor the left, but getting out of the city by the most direct route; and when a respectful distance was reached, just to drop her a friendly line, saying he could not find it compatible with his conscience to longer eat her bread without paying for it, but as soon as fortune put the means in his way, he would lose no time in rubbing out the score.

“Love of my mother!” again ejaculated Tickler, “but your astetics are well enough.  And I like the logic that closes the door on a small debt, rather than bury a friend with a big one.  See that, now, master general!”

The preliminaries whereby the adroit critic was to follow the fortunes of his master, were now arranged, and the agreement signed.  Tickler was to be faithful and obedient to his master, rendering him such services as the change of events might demand, being content with rations and clothing until the fortunes of war turned up something better.