At last an orderly stepped up to where our hero and Rivington were pleasantly chatting. "General Howe will see you, gentlemen," he said, saluting.
George caught himself in the act of replying to the salute. That would never do at all. He was supposed to be ignorant of military tactics, and he trembled at his narrow escape.
General Howe glanced over the despatches lazily. He appeared to be an easy-going man of indolent habits, for he lounged in his chair. He had a good-natured face.
"So the American General Schuyler is disgruntled, eh?" he said. "'Tis quite like opera-bouffe. And they say that Farmer Gates from Massachusetts may supersede him. Well, well, the plot thickens. Burgoyne's army is obstructed by broken roads and felled trees. Let them take their time. They will encounter nothing worse. 'Tis my opinion that we forced things too hard in Now Jersey. I thank you for the news these despatches contain, my dear young sir," he said, "and it is good news to hear of our friends up the river. Can I do anything for you? You can most certainly command me. I trust I shall see you again."
A splendid hound was sprawled out on the rug before the fireplace. George looked at him carefully. He knew the dog in an instant. It was one that had been raised by Mr. Wyeth. General Howe followed the lad's glance.
"I see you know a good dog when you see him," he said. "'Twas a present to me from a soldier. He seems to have an antipathy for Yankees, but likes a scarlet coat."
The dog turned over on his back and lazily tapped the floor with his tail. Seeing George, he arose and stretched himself; but as he approached closer he suddenly grew excited, and jumped up on the young man's breast, trying his best to lick his hands and face.
"How strange!" said General Howe. "I have never seen him pay aught of attention to a stranger here before. Down, down! you devil!" The dog slunk beneath the table, and at last Rivington and "Richard Blount" stepped out in the hallway.
"'Tis strange about dogs," the older man was saying. "They are both faithful and capricious."
George went back to his hotel. On his way he had another proof that his disguise was quite impenetrable, for whom should he pass walking along the street but Abel Norton, the chief clerk. George held his breath. The old man, however, looked him in the face and passed on.