"You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. I’ll need you to go back to the barracks and fetch more men up to town. You hear what I say, Quilt?" he added, looking at Jack. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Of all the amazing coincidences. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door.
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