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The men and boys used to laugh, and call me General, and Lord Cornwallis, and all sorts of nicknames; and old Stiffelkind made a thousand new ones for me. One day I can recollect one miserable day, as I was polishing on the trees a pair of boots of Mr. Stiffelkind's manufacture the old gentleman came into the shop, with a lady on his arm. "Vere is Gaptain Stobbs?" said he.
I was so disgusted with Stiffelkind's brutal jokes, which were now more brutal than ever, that when I got my place in the Post Office, I never went near the fellow again: for though he had done me a favor in keeping me from starvation, he certainly had done it in a very rude, disagreeable manner, and showed a low and mean spirit in SHOVING me into such a degraded place as that of postman.
But such is the world. And thus the people at Stiffelkind's used to tease me, until they drove me almost mad. At last he came home one day more merry and abusive than ever. "Gaptain," says he, "I have goot news for you a goot place. Your lordship vill not be able to geep your garridge, but you vill be gomfortable, and serve his Majesty." "Serve his Majesty?" says I. "Dearest Mr.
Secondly, it was read in this London paper by my mortal enemy, Bunting, who had been introduced to old Stiffelkind's acquaintance by my adventure with him, and had his shoes made regularly by that foreign upstart.
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