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. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. Their duty was to see who came in, or went out; to lock up, and open the different wards; to fetter such prisoners as were ordered to be placed in irons; to distribute the allowances of provision; and to maintain some show of decorum; for which latter purpose they were allowed to carry whips and truncheons. I'll see her myself; and that's more than she bargained for, I'll be sworn. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. ” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. .
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