AT THE "TROTTING NAG"
It was by deliberate intention, not accident, that Lossie found the
Professor alone on the day following Silver Streak's victory, and
conveyed to his mind her own epicurean disgust at the associations to
which Gay's new Trotting mania had exposed her, though jealousy at
the increased opportunities of her cousin for meeting Carlton, was
really at the bottom of her interference. Lightly, but maliciously,
she ran over the whole scene, the surroundings at Waterloo Park, so
utterly different to those of an ordinary race meeting, and, so far
as she could see, without a gentlewoman present save Gay and herself.
But when, in speaking of the "public-house ladies" present, she
mentioned Min Toplady, the Professor visibly stiffened.
"A most estimable woman," he said, "and nurse to all the younger
members of our family. She adored Gay, and though we lost sight of
her on her marriage, I don't know anyone from whom my sister would
take better a word in season than Minnie. I am shocked to hear that
the poor woman has taken to racing--married a sporting publican, I
fear."
Lossie shrugged her graceful shoulders as her appraising glance ran
up and down the Professor's handsome, if unbraced, figure and face,
then round the pictures and appointments of the room in which they
sat. After all, she might do worse, if--if--but Gay was not going to
have it all her own way with Carlton Mackrell. Chris Hannen was
_her_ man, and the sooner she realised it the better.
"I have a great mind to go and see Minnie," said Frank nervously,
"and get her to use her influence with Gay--but I don't know her
address--
"Oh," said Lossie, with curling lip, "_I_ can tell you--the "Trotting
Nag," Camberwell, which is precisely the place and neighbourhood
where, from her appearance, you might expect to find her!"
"Now, now," protested the Professor, for unkindness is not so much a
matter of speech as of atmosphere, and he thought it unbecoming that
so lovely a creature as Lossie should be so acrimonious.
And yet he pitied her, without parents, without money, though why she
had not married long ago, and brilliantly, was a puzzle to more
worldly people than the Professor.
"Poor Frank," she said, "I'm afraid you'll find her much more Gay's
ally in the matter than yours. Why don't you put your foot down
_yourself_, and insist on Gay's giving up this disreputable business?"
The Professor sighed, and Lossie longed to shake him. Fearing that
she might be tempted to do so, she got up to go, and she was so tall,
and at that moment so beautiful in her contempt, that an unwonted
thrill ran through him. After all, he was only a man, and not such a
very old one at that, and reading him perfectly, she put up her face
to his, and murmuring, "Dear old Frank!" kissed him with rather more
than cousinly warmth in farewell.
He stood looking at the door through which she had passed with what
Gay called his "gay old dog" air of reminiscence; then his thoughts
reverted to Minnie, and her good influence over Gay when the latter
had been a wilful, charming child, and on the spur of the moment he
decided to go and see her.
It was lucky that Gay was out. It would never do for her to
intercept him, and inquire where he was going, for he had a wholesome
dread of his sister's discerning eye.
Upon such occasions as he invented "taradiddles" to cover more or
less unlawful excursions abroad, he was invariably bowled out, and
stood disconsolate, and looking justly sheepish at the emphatic
"Rubbish!" with which they were received.
"You're a bad liar, Frank," Gay said one day, "and wouldn't deceive a
child. But why lie at all? Besides, your memory isn't good enough."
Now he hailed a hansom, and darting into it as quickly as a rabbit
into its burrow, through the trap-door gave as his destination, the
"Trotting Nag," Camberwell, looking, moreover, so guilty and
self-conscious, that the cabby smiled broadly as he gathered up the
reins, and chirruped to his horse.
"Looks more like the British Museum than a 'pub,'" he said to
himself, "but, Lord, appearances is such liars!"
The Professor squeezed himself into a corner of the cab, and tried to
marshal his ideas and line of attack. He did not relish his job, as
he had a lively recollection of Min Toplady's temper years ago,
before she was married; he hoped that matrimony had softened her
downrightness considerably, and also that her husband would be there.
He felt he could count on his sympathy, if not on his support,
because men always hang together where a woman is concerned.
Throughout the long drive he talked nervously to himself, and
attracted much attention by his silent rhetoric and expressive
gestures. His Jehu passed the wink to such other Jehus as
congratulated him on his fare, and having peeped through the roof in
the middle of one of the Professor's most impassioned appeals,
reassured interested curb-loungers by tapping his head significantly,
and turning his eyes heavenwards.
Arrived at the "Trotting Nag," the Professor was most reluctant to
leave the security of the cab, and merely met the cabman's reminder
that he had arrived at his destination, with an "Ah, yes; so I
observe."
Finally collecting the fare from the depths of a waistcoat pocket, he
thrust it hurriedly through the roof, and hastily descended. Without
looking ahead, he made for the door of the public bar, entering with
a run, and cannoning violently against a navvy coming out, who had
consumed sufficient beer to become severely critical of the manners
of other people.
This individual, having recovered his balance against the door-post,
promptly inquired "where the 'ell the old image was agoin' to?" But
the Professor had sought the far end of the bar, and was inquiring
nervously, and with many smiles, if Mrs. Toplady could be seen.
A good-looking barmaid regarded him with speculation in her eye, then
remarked:
"I think she is in. Is it about the gas?"
The Professor assured her it was not, but quite a private matter,
upon which the barmaid withdrew, and a moment later Min Toplady
herself emerged, and gave an exclamation of astonishment.
"Bless my soul! Why, it's Master Frank!"
The remark attracted some attention in the bar, one of the customers
remarking that the Professor was "a bit old-fashioned" for a kid, as
Min raised the flap of the bar, and escorted her guest through it to
the parlour, where a few privileged friends had the right of entrée.
It was empty now, the harassed Professor was relieved to find, and as
he stood before the fire, and looked anxiously through the door into
the bar, Min's hospitable mind mistook his meaning.
"What will you be pleased to take, Master Frank?" she inquired, and
the Professor looked at her blandly as his fingers flitted lightly
round his face.
"Take?" he repeated. "Oh, nothing, I thank you. I seldom indulge,
you know."
"Oh, but you must have something, sir, if only for the good of the
house, as some of the boys say who have had more than is good for
them already, just on closing time," she insisted.
The Professor thought of his errand, and in the exuberant presence of
Min, felt his courage slipping away from him. Perhaps a little drop
of something might revive him, he thought--a little "jumping powder,"
as those sporting friends of Gay's would call it.
But Min had already disappeared into the bar, and quickly returned,
bearing a small glass.
"Being such a cold day, a drop of milk punch won't do you no harm,
sir," she said, putting the glass down before the Professor. "It's a
wonderful thing for warming the cockles of your heart, and it always
does my indigestion--to which I'm a martyr--a power of good."
The Professor could trace no direct connection between the cockles of
his heart and Min's indigestion, but nevertheless he took the
proffered drink gratefully, and sipped it with the air of a
connoisseur, while Min sat down, and racked her brains to find a
reason for his visit.
A silence ensued. The Professor was temporising, but by the time his
glass was empty, he felt a little more able to open the ball.
"I suppose you wonder why I am here?" he suggested, standing on one
leg, and looking more like a heron than ever. "The truth is, I--er,
wish to speak to you about my sister's--er--infatuation--"
"For Mr. Chris?" exclaimed Min, though all her sympathies were really
with Carlton Mackrell and his Trotting proclivities. "Well, Master
Frank, a good son makes a good husband all the world over--"
"No, I am glad to say she has so far not committed _that_ folly,"
said the Professor, "at least to my knowledge."
Min snorted. What did this fossil know about love, indeed, that he
should speak so slightingly of it? The idea!
"Infatuation for what, then?" she inquired. "Come, Master Frank, out
with it, and let's hear the worst, though I'm sure it can't be
anything very bad where Miss Gay's concerned."
The Professor looked hopelessly around. Why did not Mr. Toplady come
in, he wondered? Men are so much easier to tackle than women, and
Min was always so brusque and business-like.
"My sister's infatuation (there's no other word that meets the case),
is for a form of sport that I am given to understand is patronised by
people who have an even lower moral standard than the followers of
horse-racing. I refer to Trotting."
Min Toplady bridled visibly, strong supporters as she and her husband
were of the sport he decried, and she began to see how the land lay.
"Well, I'm sure!" she exclaimed. "You've got no business to speak
like that about what you don't understand. You'll excuse me, Master
Frank, but you don't know what you're talking about. Me and my
'usband goes Trotting whenever we can get away, and we don't consider
ourselves as dishonourable and low, as you seem to think Trotting
folk are, not by no manner of means--" In obedience to a gesture
from her, the barmaid appeared with a second glass of punch, deftly
removed the empty one from behind the Professor's back, and
disappeared.
The Professor turned nervously round, and was agreeably surprised to
find a full glass awaiting his attention. Surely he had finished the
first? He supposed not, however, and really, after that tirade, he
felt the need of a little comfort. He raised the glass, and looked
through it to the window.
"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Minnie, far from it. I fear I
am unfortunate in expressing myself. I mean that people are talking
about my sister associating herself with a sport"--he hesitated for a
moment as though swallowing a bitter pill--"that as yet has failed to
attract people of her own class."
Had Mrs. Toplady been a snob, here was another remark to form a bone
of contention.
"I s'pose you think it's all my fault, then, sir?" she asked,
watching the Professor delicately sipping his punch. "I told Miss
Gay at Inigo Court it wasn't quite the thing for her, though I saw no
reason why she shouldn't go in for it if she chose. Trotting's all
right, take it from me, Master Frank--it's the sayings of a lot of
outsiders who don't know their book" (the Professor blinked, and
regarded his glass fixedly) "that gives it a bad name. Me and Bob's
been at it a few years now, and we've done a goodish bit of
horseracing in our time too, and always with the half-crown public,
so to speak. But I give you my word, I'd sooner be among the
Trotting lads than the proper racing crowd."
"Might I inquire why?" said the Professor.
"Well taken all round, they are a sight straighter than most of the
mobs who go racing in silk hats and frock coats, and don't you forget
it, Master Frank. I've had a good many things sneaked in a
race-course crowd, but I've never had my bag snatched at Trotting,
and never expect to. There's a freemasonry among them low people"
(the Professor winced and changed his legs) "that won't let 'em
interfere with you, even as a stranger on the track. There's bad
hats among them, of course, but somehow the fact that a man's coming
Trotting is a guarantee among 'em that he's all right, and unless he
_arsks_ for it, he'll be let alone, even if dressed in bank-notes.
They _may_ be all little men, butchers, fishmongers, and publicans--"
She sniffed audibly, and the Professor squirmed; nevertheless, things
had begun to look more rosy to his view. That second glass of punch
had produced an elation of feeling which he had been entirely without
on his arrival, and now, as he put down his empty glass with
elaborate precision, and squared his shoulders, there was decision in
his tone, if a momentary loss of balance of his person as he said:
"I am firm in my resolve, nevertheless, to put a stop to my sister's
utter disregard of the conventionalities."
His voice sounded unfamiliar in his own ears; he found extraordinary
difficulty in separating the words that all ran into one another.
Things would be easier, he thought, if only his listener would sit
still, and not rock about in her chair so ridiculously.
"I don't see what you want to interfere for, Master Frank," said Min,
checking a smile, "though for the matter of that, I don't s'pose Miss
Gay attaches much importance to it. Haven't you ever thought how
lonely her life is?" she broke out, remembering their talk at Inigo
Court. "She hasn't got very much to amuse her, and--you'll excuse a
bit of plain speaking--I'm afraid you're not much of a comfort to
her. She don't complain, bless her plucky heart, but it ain't
natural for a young girl like her to be cooped up in London with no
companion of her own age--for Mrs. Bulteel is nearly ten years older,
and 'most always with her husband, and Miss Lossie--well, she don't
count. 'Twould be small blame to her if she took up with
things--_and_ people--a deal worse than Trotting folks."
The Professor resumed an erect position. This view had never been
brought home to him before; his own selfish life, absorbed in science
to the exclusion of all else, so contented him, that never a thought
had entered his mind about his duty to Gay. She seemed happy enough
always, he reflected, and because she never asked for anything, he
supposed she had nothing to ask for.
Min saw her advantage, and pursued it.
"It would serve you right if Miss Gay was to marry, and leave you to
look after yourself," she said severely. "I'm sure it's not for want
of chances. There's more than one, or two even, young gentlemen as
is head over heels in love with her now, and either of them could
give her more fun and sunshine than she ever had with you, Master
Frank!"
Frank Lawless thought of the girlish glee of the telegram he received
on the day of Silver Streak's victory, "Won my first race--Hooray!"
and how he had not only failed to congratulate her, but lectured her
at dinner. He looked so crushed and miserable that Min's kind heart
relented; there were tears in his weak blue eyes, though whether
induced by self-reproach, or born of the unaccustomed punch, Min was
not prepared to say.
Now she crossed over to him, and laid a kind, motherly hand on his
shoulder.
"Don't take on about it, Master Frank," she said; "perhaps I've
rubbed it in a bit too strong. But if my advice is worth anything,
you won't try to deprive the child of the bit of harmless fun her
horses will give her, but thank your lucky stars that she's content
to stay at home, and look after you, instead of gallivanting about
all over the shop, like some folks, trying to get someone to marry
them!"
She sniffed disgustedly, meaning Lossie, whom she suspected, and
rightly, of setting Frank against Gay's new fancy.
"As for what people say, let 'em. Them as don't like it can lump
it--don't you worry--or worry dear little Miss Gay."
The Professor felt a burning desire to lay his head down on Min's
ample bosom, and weep bitterly; he had not expected to be tackled so
vigorously, though he had known he would not have things all his own
way.
"Buck up, Master Frank," Min encouraged him, "and have another drop
of punch before you go home. Your heart's in the right place--at
least it always was when I had the looking after the boys and Miss
Gay, and you only want just telling what to do, which is to let well
alone."
The Professor accepted the punch (in a smaller glass this time) and
drained it at a gulp, though it was insidious stuff, he feared, and
treacherous. Dreading further criticisms of himself, he seized his
hat, and grasping Min's hand, worked it like a pump handle, then
started for the door with a little run, breathing a sigh of relief
when he reached the pavement. Fortunately, whatever his head might
be, his legs were of cast-iron, and he slipped nimbly enough into a
hansom, just managing to jerk out his address to the cabby, before he
fell fast asleep.
The stopping of the cab woke him, and hurriedly paying the man double
his fare, he admitted himself with his latch-key, and proceeded on
tiptoe to his study to finish his interrupted nap, taking the
precaution to first lock the door. There was more of wily Brer
Rabbit in the Professor's composition than most people supposed.