"MY DAUGHTER AND MY SON-IN-LAW."
"Moonshine!" said the trainer, with a puzzled look after the departing
doctor. "Laughing like an idiot. Rum how it takes different people.
Here's my stepping lady looking as if she meant to take pyson in her
five o'clock tea, the doctor regularly off his chump, and I dessay
someone'll go home by train to-night, load a revolver, and--click! All
over. Well, they shouldn't meddle with what they don't understand.
Reg'lar gambling, and they deserve all they get. Hullo! You here
again?"
This to the pink-coated tout, who came smiling and cringing up to the
door.
"Brought yer a tip. Something good, Mr Simpkins, sir."
"Yah! Rubbish! My book's chock."
"But it's the tippiest tip, sir, as ever was," whispered the man from
behind his hand. "Worth a Jew's eye."
"I'm fly, Dinny," said the trainer, with a wink. "Tell it to some one
else. I don't trade to-day."
"You'll repent it, Mr Sam, sir," whispered the man, earnestly, and with
many nods and jerks of the head, as he kept looking about furtively to
see that they were not overheard.
"Of course. All right," said the trainer, contemptuously. "Down on
your luck, eh, Dinny?"
"Terrible, sir."
"Want a drink?"
The man smiled, and drew the back of a dirty hand across his cracked and
fevered lips.
"Go round to the tap and say I sent you. Here, twist those cards
round."
The man obeyed promptly, and after placing the point of his black
lead-pencil to his lips the trainer scrawled laboriously: "One drink.--
S.S."
"Used to be private bar--once," muttered the man, with an eager, thirsty
look in his bleared and bloodshot eyes.
"Thank ye, Mr Sam, sir, and good luck to yer. My word, what a beauty
she have growed, sir! Lady T.'s nothing to her."
"Right you are, Dinny," said the trainer, smiling proudly, as his child
came tripping down the staircase as light, flowery, and iridescent in
colours as a clever, fashionable modiste and milliner could make her,
regardless of expense, after being ordered to produce something "spiff"
for the races. "She'll take the shine out of some of 'em."
"Shine, sir!" cried the tout, in his genuine admiration of the pretty,
rosy-faced, rustic little beauty. "Why, she'll put 'em out like a
silver 'stinguisher. Thank ye, Mr Sam, sir," he continued, as in his
satisfaction at the praise and the pleasure felt over an anticipated
grand coup, the trainer's heart opened, and he slipped a florin into the
tout's hand. "You wouldn't buy my tip, sir, but I'll give it to the
little gal I've knowed since she was as high as one of your quart pots.
Good luck to you, my beauty! You lay gloves or guineas on your pretty
namesake--La Sylphide's the winner. You're clippers, both on you, that
you are. Tlat!"
The last was a smack of the lips as the tout went from the door on his
way to the tap, and in anticipation of the draught that would cool his
parching throat.
"Nasty old man!" cried the little bouquet of a body, exhaling scent all
round, as she tripped to the trainer's side, raised herself on tiptoe,
with her delicate, rose-coloured gloves on his shoulders, and gave him a
couple of rapid kisses. "There, dad, shall I do?"
"Oh, yes, you'll do," said the trainer, grimly; "but don't you get
putting anything on La Sylphide."
"Not going to, daddy," said the girl, merrily, and making three or four
breakdown steps she brought a little foot down on the floor with a light
pat. "I've put all on her that she's going to win to-day. Now, say I
look fit as a fairy."
"Out and out. There'll be nothing to-day as can touch yer. But--"
"Ah, you mustn't--you shan't!" cried the charming little thing, dashing
at her father as he uttered that _but_ in a growl. "We've had it out
together, and made it up, and kissed, and you shan't scold me any more."
"I dunno 'bout that," said the trainer, walking round his daughter
admiringly, while she mockingly and mincingly drew herself up to be
inspected, looking as if she were on a London stage, the focus of every
eye in an applauding house.
"Ah, it's all very well for you to come kittening round me, my gal, but
it warn't square, after what I've done, for you to go courting and
marrying on the sly."
"But I had hundreds of offers and heaps of presents from all over
London, dad, and I wouldn't take one of them--the offers, I mean."
"Of course; but you took the presents--"
The girl nodded and winked merrily.
"You didn't send them back?"
"Likely!" said the girl. "But lots of 'em were stupid bunches of
flowers, bouquets--buckets--and they were all squirmy next day."
"But to go and get married to a little bit of a boy like that!"
"But I was obliged to marry somebody, daddy," cried the girl,
petulantly. "And you saw how he used to admire me and be always
coming."
"Of course, my gal, but I didn't think it meant any more than lots more
did."
"But we just matched so nicely, daddy."
"Humph!" in a regular bearish grunt.
"And we did love one another so."
"Yah! Sweetstuff! Well, it's done, and it can't be undone."
"No, dad. I don't want it to be, and you won't when you get used to
Syd. Now you're going to be a good loving old boy and say no more about
it."
"I dunno so much about that."
"You'd better, dad."
"Oh, had I?"
"Yes; if you don't kiss me again and be friends I'll cry, and spoil
everything I've got on, and won't go to the races."
"You'd better!"
"I will," cried the girl, with her eyes flashing, and her little
cupid-bow-like mouth compressed in a look of determination. "No, I
won't. I'll go into hysterics, and scream the house down. I'll make
such a scene!"
"You be quiet, you saucy hussy. There, it's the races, and I've got a
lot of business to see to. But, look here, your place is along with
your husband."
"Well, that's where I'm going to be," said the girl, with a merry look.
"I went over on my bike this morning and saw him."
"Oh, that's where you were off to?"
"Yes, and Syd's promised to be a good boy, and come over to see you
to-day and have it out."
"Oh, is he? Well, that's right, but I don't want him to-day. I'm too
busy. Look ye here, though, my gal, I mean to see that you have your
rights. You just wait till I get my young gentleman under my thumb.
I'll give him the thumbscrew, and--"
"Here he is!" cried the girl, joyfully; and with a frisk like a lamb in
a May-field she danced to the boy, who hurried in breathlessly. "Oh,
Syd, Syd, Syd!"
The beauty of the dress was forgotten, as a pair of prettily plump arms
were thrown round the young husband's neck, while, ignoring the big,
ugly, scowling parent, the new arrival did his part in a very loving hug
and an interchange of very warm, honey-moony kisses.
The recipients were brought to their senses by a growl. "Well, that's a
pretty performance in public, young people."
"Public!" cried the girl. "Pooh! Only you, daddy, and you don't
count."
"Public-house," said Syd. "How d'ye do, Mr Simpkins?"
"Never you mind how I do, nor how I don't, young gentleman. You and
me's got to have a few words of a sort."
"All right, Mr Simpkins," cried Syd, cheerfully, as he drew back to the
full extent of his and his young wife's joined hands to inspect her in
front, and, with the girl's aid, behind. "Lovely!" he whispered, and
the girl flushed with delight, as she kept on tripping, posturing, and
dancing, as if trying to draw her husband on into a pas de deux, or a
pas de fascination in a ballet, he being apparently quite willing to
join in and finish off with another embrace.
"Drop it, Molly," cried the old man. "Now, sir, what have you got to
say for yourself?"
"Nothing!" cried Syd, without turning his head; but he did the next
moment. "I say, Sam, don't she look lovely?"
"Sam, eh? Well, you're a cool 'un, 'pon my soul!"
"Oh, daddy, don't!" cried the girl, pettishly.
"But I shall. Here, he marries you without coming to me first with `by
your leave' or `with your leave.'"
"But hasn't he come now, daddy? You always used to say you wished you'd
got a boy, and now you've got one--a beauty. Ain't you, Syd?"
"Stunner."
"Will you hold your tongue, Molly! You've got a worse clack than your
mother had."
"Then do come and do the proper. You kneel down, Syd, and I'll lean on
your shoulder. I ain't going to spoil my dress for nobody, not even a
cross old dad. That's right. Down on your knees, Syd."
"Shan't. I want to put my arm round you."
"Very well; that'll do. Now then, come on, daddy, and say: `Bless you,
my children!' Curtain."
"What? What d'yer mean by `curtain?' You hold your tongue, miss. Now,
Mr Sydney Smithers. Smithers! There's a name for a respectable girl to
want to take!"
"Well, hang it!" cried the boy, "it's better than Simpkins."
"Not it," growled the owner of the latter; but he scratched his head, as
if in doubt. "Be quiet, Molly. Now, Mr Smithers, I mean my gal to have
her rights."
"Yes, Mr Simpkins."
"Get it over, Syd."
"Yes, sir; I quite agree with you."
"That's right, then, so far; but what I say is that you ought to have
come straight to me, as her father, and `Mr Simpkins,' says you, `I've
took a great fancy to your filly'--daughter, I mean--`and I'm going to
make proposals for her 'and,' you says."
"Yes, Mr Simpkins; I'm very much attached to your daughter and I've
married her."
"No, you didn't, young gentleman," cried the old man, irascibly.
"That's just what you ought to have done."
"Yes, exactly, Mr Simpkins; but, I say, what are you doing to-day about
the big race?"
"Never you mind about no big race, young fellow. I want to know what
you're going to do about the human race. You've married my gal
candlestine, as they call it, and I want to know about settlements. You
don't expect I'm going to keep you and your wife and family?"
"Well, he won't let me," said Syd, in response to a whisper.
"Of course he won't," said the trainer. "Not likely. You're a
gentleman, I suppose. You won't want to do nothing for your living."
"Oh, I don't know," said Syd.
"Well, that means you will. That sounds better. But you won't want to
come and live here and help serve behind my bar?"
"No, I'm blest if I do!"
"Oh, dad, drop it," cried the girl.
"No, nor I shan't drop it, miss, till I've seen about your rights.
Suppose you mean him to come to London and begin figgering on the stage
along with you?"
"I don't, dad."
"Well, I'm glad you've got so much sense in your head, my gal, for, you
mark my words, he's the wrong sort. Too short and fat."
"Dad!"
"Well, so he is, my gal. I dunno what you sees in him."
"Oh!" ejaculated the girl, and she turned her back, snatched Syd's tie
undone, and began to retie it, as she whispered; "Oh, do finish it all,
Syd. I want to get good places on the stand."
"Perhaps," continued the trainer, "I might make you of some use among
the 'osses after a bit. But you'd have to train, and get rid of a stone
of that fat."
"Fat!" cried Syd, indignantly.
"Oh, dad, what a shame!" cried the young wife, with tears in her eyes.
"Never mind what he says, Syd. You're not fat."
"Yes, he is, miss; too fat for a light-weight. But I don't want him to
be always quarrelling with. Put it the other way, then. What's your
people going to do for you?"
"Don't know," said the boy, taking out his cigarette-case.
"No, o' course you don't; that's what I'm a-saying. You don't. But I
do. That's where it is. There, don't get smoking them nasty,
rubbishing things in my 'all and making it not fit for a gent as knows
what's what to come in. Smoke one of them."
The trainer drew a handful of big dark cigars with gold bands from his
breast-pocket, and held them out for the lad to take one, which he did
readily.
"Thank ye. Partagas, sir?"
"Oh, you do know something, then?" growled the trainer, biting off the
end and proceeding to strike a match, which he held ready, so that he
and his son-in-law could join ends, and draw in a friendly way, much to
the satisfaction of the young lady, who smiled to herself and said--
"They're coming round."
"Suppose we shake hands now, Mr Simpkins, and say done," cried Syd,
blowing a big cloud in his father-in-law's face.
"Don't you be in a hurry, young fellow. As I was a-saying, about your
people. Do you think my lady, your aunt, will find you in money to keep
house for a trainer's daughter?"
"N-n-no," said Syd, sadly.
"No, it is, young man. If you'd wanted to be secketary to a society for
the propergation o' something or another, she'd be all there with a big
subscription; but she won't give yer tuppence now."
"No, but uncle will," cried Syd, eagerly. "He's the right sort."
"Him? Tchah! Why, my lady won't let him have enough to pay his own
tailor's bills. I know all about that. What about the old man?"
"Grandfather?"
"Yes. S'pose you took Molly down promiscus like, and showed him her
paces; he might take a fancy to her, eh?"
"Yes," cried Molly. "Capital, father! Syd will take me down to see his
grandfather. Won't you, Syd?"
"Take you anywhere, darling; only not to-day."
"Who said to-day, little stupid? There, now, it's all right, ain't it,
dad?"
"Don't you be in such a flurry, my gal; 'tain't whipping and spurring
like mad as gets you first past the post. Steady does it. Now, young
gentleman, look here."
"Oh, dear me, dad, how you do like to talk!" cried the girl, pettishly.
"Do you hear me, sir? Leave the girl alone. You don't want everyone to
know you're just married--hugging her that how."
"Yes, I do, all the world and everybody," cried Syd. "We're married,
but we're awfully in love with each other still--aren't we, darling?"
"Awfully, Syd," cried Molly, hanging to him.
"Well, I s'pose that's all right," grumbled the trainer, "and of course
what's done, as I said afore, can't be undone. But, look here; I mean
my gal to have her rights."
"Of course, sir."
"And I understand you mean to do the proper thing by her?"
"Yes, dad. To be sure he does, and you're going to be ever so proud of
Syd--proud as I am."
"Well, I don't quite know that, but I've got something else to think
about now, and so, after what you've said square and 'andsome, young
gen'leman, here's my 'art and here's my 'and."
The trainer illustrated his last words by putting his left hand upon his
chest, too low down to satisfy an anatomist, and holding out his right.
"There," he continued, after the business of shaking hands had been gone
through, "all this talking has made me husky, so we'll have a glass of
fizz, son-in-law, in honour of the occasion, just to wash it down."
"No, no, no, no!" cried the girl. "Syd and I want to get out on the
common to see all the races."
"Bah! You two won't be thinking about the races, I know. Look here,
though, son-in-law. Some day, I'll give you the right tip;" and then,
in a whisper from behind his hand, "Jim Crow--the dark horse."
"What for?"
"What for?" cried the trainer, contemptuously. "Why, the cup."
"Nonsense?"
"That's right, boy."
"No, no," cried Syd, giving his young wife's arm a hug. "La Sylphide."
"Out of it. Jock in a straight weskit."
"Out of it be hanged, sir! She runs to win, with Uncle Hilton up."
"Come along, Syd," cried Molly, and the pair ran out like a couple of
schoolchildren, nearly cannoning against Mark Willows, who was coming up
with Sir Hilton's bag and overcoat, and making him turn to look after
them, while Sam Simpkins stood gasping like a great, red-faced carp
which had leaped out of the edge of a pond and landed in an element not
suited to its nature.