The job is easy. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. Mischief bubbled up in her. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. " "Run along, then. But, perhaps Mr. Jack Kimble. CHAPTER II. In a sense I don’t care.
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