"Nonsense!" gasped the trainer, as soon as he could get his breath after
the staggerer he had received. "The boy's in love--mad--don't know what
he's a-saying of."
"Well, I'm blest!" said Mark, turning round with a grin on his face.
"He's begun to crow early. Day, Mr Simpkins. I say--"
Mark did not say anything, but winked and jerked his thumb over his
right shoulder in the direction the young couple had taken.
"What do you want?" growled the trainer, surlily.
"Room for the guv'nor--Sir Hilton Lisle, Bart--to dress for the race."
"Then it is true," said the trainer to himself, as to hide his face from
the groom he turned his back, walked to a bell-handle, and pulled it
violently before returning.
"Got a lot on our mare, eh, Mr Simpkins?"
"No!" growled the trainer. "I heered she was not going to run."
"Knowing ones ain't always right, sir."
At that moment the chambermaid appeared.
"Room for Sir Hilton Lisle," cried the trainer, hoarsely. "Put him in
number one. Well, this is a facer!" he muttered, as he turned away. "I
must have a drop for this," and he hurried into the bar.
"Hullo, my dear," cried Mark. "My word, what a cap! I say, what's the
matter with the boss?"
"He's got a sore head," said the chambermaid, sharply. "I never see
such a bear."
"He's been backing the wrong horse, I know," said Mark.
"Then you don't know nothing about it, Mr Clever. Here, I've got one
for you."
The speaker led the way up the stairs into the open gallery, to pause at
the top by the door of the room her master had named, Mark following
with the bag and overcoat.
"Well, let's have it," said Mark.
"Why, I should ha' thought you must ha' known."
"Known what--as my guv'nor's going on the Turf again?"
"Bother the Turf! I'm sick of the name. No; master's found out about
Miss Molly."
"Eh? What about her?"
"Married! How do you like that?"
"Never tried yet, my dear. But who to?"
"Who to, indeed! A chit of a boy."
"Wha-a-at!" cried Mark, and a light broke upon him as he recalled what
he had just seen. "Not our Master Syd?"
"Right first time."
"Oh, here's a game," began Mark. "Quick, here's master, and I haven't
put out his duds."
The groom dashed through the door the girl threw open just as Sir
Hilton, who had been to the paddock, came up to the porch ready to meet
the trainer, who was coming from the bar wiping his lips with the back
of his hand.
"It's all up!" he groaned to himself.
"Ah, Sam Simpkins, how are you? Surprised to see me here again, eh?"
"Sur-prised ain't the word for it, Sir Hilton," cried the trainer,
making an effort to look landlordly, and speaking in boisterous tones.
"Staggered, Sir Hilton. That's nearer the mark; but come in, Sir
Hilton. Puts me in mind o' the good old days. My word! Who'd ha'
thought it? I jest heered of it. And you're going to ride, Sir
Hilton?"
"I am, Sam."
"Your old mare, Sir Hilton?"
"No," said Sir Hilton, frowning. "My old friend Lady Tilborough's mare,
in consequence of--"
"Yes, I heered, Sir Hilton; her jockey, Josh Rowle's been on the drink
again. Dear, dear! I keep a house, but what I say to people who come
to my bar or to the tap is--"
"Yes--yes, I know. My man here?"
"Yes, Sir Hilton. Up in your old room, number one. But, ahem! Beg
pardon, Sir Hilton, you can trust me," said the trainer, dropping his
voice. "Do you, eh--understand me, Sir Hilton--man who's seen a deal o'
business for you--you--you don't ride to win?"
"Why, you--"
"Ah, Hilt, dear boy!" cried Lady Tilborough, hurrying in. "I saw you
come up to the porch, but couldn't overtake you. Man of your word."
"I hope so," said Sir Hilton, turning to give the old trainer a
withering look.
"Oh, murder!" muttered the man, wiping his brow, now all covered with a
heavy dew. "What shall I do? It's a smasher."
"Seen our beauty?" said Lady Tilborough.
"Yes; I've been to look. She's in splendid form."
"Thank you, old man; that does me good."
"A bit too fine, though," continued Sir Hilton, who had been watching
the trainer narrowly, and seeing his state and guessing the cause, felt
a little compassionate. "What do you say, Sam?"
"Well, Sir Hilton, if you ask me, I say I haven't had her training
lately, but I'll give you, an old patron, my honest opinion--not a bit,
sir--and if you'll take my advice you'll play a quiet game with the
mare. That's the winning card."
"Nonsense!" cried Sir Hilton, contemptuously.
"Just listen to him, my lady. Here has he been out of the game all this
time, while I've been watching La Sylphide's work at every race. I asks
you, my lady, Is there anyone as knows the mare's action, temper and
staying powers better than me?"
"He's right there, Hilt," said Lady Tilborough.
"To some extent, yes," said the gentleman addressed.
"Thank ye, Sir Hilton. Then look here; nobody would like to see you
come first past the post more than your old trainer."
"Would you, Sam?" said Sir Hilton, with a queer look at the speaker.
"All right, Sir Hilton. I understand yer alloosion. I may've got a bit
on Jim Crow, consequent upon the misfortune to Josh Rowle; but," he
continued, closing one eye meaningly, "I can put that right easy. You
win the race, Sir Hilton, and I'll make a pot of money by it. I know
the ropes."
"You do, Sam," said the baronet, laughing.
"And I'm glad of the charnsh to do a good turn to a couple o' noble
patrons who have put many a hundred into my pocket. Look here, Sir
Hilton, there's plenty of time yet. I am at your service. Just you
take me to the mare, and let me have a few minutes with her."
"The mare is not my property, Sam," said Sir Hilton, laughing.
"Of course not, Sir Hilton. I forgot. What do you say, my lady? That
there Jim Crow's a good horse, and La Sylphide hasn't the wind she had."
"Indeed!" said Lady Tilborough.
"It's a fact, my lady. What she wants is holding in and a waiting game,
_and_ just something as--you know, Sir Hilton--for the roosh at the
last, as'll take her in a couple o' lengths ahead."
"Yes, I understand," said Sir Hilton, drily.
"You hear, my lady? I want you to win."
"Thank you, Simpkins," said Lady Tilborough, gravely. "I am greatly
obliged."
"And I'm to just take the mare in hand for you," said the man, who, in
his excitement, could not restrain his eagerness.
"Well, no, thank you, Simpkins," said the lady, quietly. "You were
always a very good trainer, and I made a good deal of money in the past,
but I have a very trustworthy man now, and he might object to your
interference at the eleventh hour."
"Oh, I could soon make it right with him, my lady," said the trainer,
quickly.
"No doubt, Sam Simpkins," said the lady, meaningly, "but I should be
sorry to have my man's morals assailed."
"I don't understand you, my lady."
"Then I'll speak more plainly, Simpkins. I am not disposed to lay my
man open to temptation."
"What! Does your ladyship mean to insinuate that I'd do anything that
warn't quite square?"
"I insinuate nothing, Sam Simpkins. I only go so far as to say that you
are not my servant now, and that I would not trust you in the least."
"Hark at that now!" cried the trainer, turning up his eyes to the
sporting trophies on the walls, and unconsciously letting them rest on
the grinning mask of an old fox. Then "Ain't you got a word to say for
me, Sir Hilton? I has my faults, I know, but no man living would say I
couldn't be trusted. You allus found me right, Sir Hilton."
"Always, Sam, when it suited your book."
"Well, I am!" exclaimed the trainer.
"Yes, Sam, an awful old scamp," said Lady Tilborough, laughing. "Thank
you, my man. You've got your favourite, I've got mine, and the man to
ride her straight and square as an English gentleman should ride an
English horse."
"All right, Sir Hilton. All right, my lady. Sorry I tried to give
advice gratis for nothing; only mind this, both of you, if La Sylphide
breaks down or Sir Hilton here loses his nerve through being out of
training, don't you blame me."
"Don't be alarmed, Simpkins," said Lady Tilborough, in a tone which made
the trainer draw back a step or two. "Here, Hilton."
"Yes."
"A horrible thought. What about your weight?" she whispered.
"Went straight to the scales and tried," he replied, in the same lowered
tone. "Right to an ounce."
"Ha!" ejaculated Lady Tilborough, with a sigh of relief and a glance
back to see if the trainer was out of hearing. "Now then, off to your
room and get into your silk. Mind, you must keep cool and you must
win."
"I'm trying my best. But I can't help thinking. My wife!"
"Oh! Kiss your wife, man--when you get back. Never mind her now."
"But if by any chance she hears?"
"Let her hear when the race is run. She must hear afterwards, of
course. Wives and husbands are out of court now. Remember your four
thou'."
"I do," said Sir Hilton, with a groan.
"Ah! would you!" cried Lady Tilborough. "You've got to face the thing
anyhow, and listen, here's your position: It's meeting the poor, severe
darling with the race lost, or meeting her with it won. Which will you
do?"
"Of course," cried Sir Hilton, eagerly. "I see."
"You're yourself again. Now, one more word--that man has backed Jim
Crow heavily. You understand?"
"Of course."
"And Jim Crow's rather a dangerous horse; but if you keep cool, and in
your old form, the race is ours."
"Yes; I feel it now."
"Then you know. Keep her clear, and let her have her own old way."
"Then I'm off yonder. You'll meet me there. I've a hankering to be at
her side, for fear of the possibility of anyone getting at her even
now."
"No fear of that. Off with you!"
Lady Tilborough held out her hand, and Granton entered quickly.
"Silk ho!" he cried.
Sir Hilton nodded shortly and ran actively up the stairs.
"Bravo!" said the doctor. "Hilt looks his old self. Cool as a--you
know."
"Don't say another word to me, Granton, till the race is over," said the
lady, pleadingly.
"I understand," he said, and they went off straight for the paddock,
while as soon as the chamber door in the gallery had been shut sharply
upon his master by Mark Willows, Simpkins slipped out of the bar entry,
looking flushed and strange.
"Too late to do anything now," he groaned to himself. "My head seems to
be going--all of a buzz. Hedge heavily or chance it. Which? Which?
Oh, what in the name of thunder shall I do?"