Sir Hilton's Sin Part 13

Suppose she should say, "Well, give it up," and want to withdraw that balance at the bank! "What an idiot I was to say that!" he thought.

But relief--partial relief--came the next minute.

"That is your modesty, my dear," said Lady Lisle. "I flatter myself that I know your capabilities better than you know them yourself.

Hilton, I shall devote myself to the task of being your Parliamentary secretary, and I mean that you shall shine."

"Thank you, my dear," said the unhappy man, sadly, as he thought of the daring venture he had set in commission, and began to repent as he walked to the window and looked out.

"I ought not to have risked that money, though. Suppose the mare lost,"

he mused. "Bah! I know her too well. There isn't a horse can touch her in the straight, and it will regularly set me up. I shan't have to go begging for a cheque, and then have 'What for, darling?' ringing in my ears. Hang it all! It makes a man feel so small. Why, the very servants pity me--I know they do. And as for that old scoundrel Trimmer--oh, if I could only give him something, even if it were only a wife to keep him short!"

"Suppose--" he thought again, and could get no farther than that one word, which, like the nucleus of a comet, sent out behind or before it a tail of enormous proportions--a sort of gaseous mist of horrible probabilities concerning that four thousand pounds.

"If I could get a message to him and stop it all," he muttered, as he watched Jane rapidly clear the table of the tardy breakfast things.

"Yes, my love, Parliament must be the goal of your ambition," said Lady Lisle, with her eyes brightening, as soon as they were alone. "If I had been a man how I should have gloried in addressing the House!"

"Ah! there's a deal of talk goes on there, my dear," replied Sir Hilton.

"And what talk, Hilton! What a study! The proper study of mankind is man. How much better than devoting all your attention to dogs and horses!"

"'How n.o.ble a beast is the horse,' dear, it said in my first reading-book."

"Absurd, my love. Pray don't think of horses any more."

Sir Hilton winced, and then watched his lady as she moved in a dignified way to the fireplace to rearrange her headgear.

"Going out again, my dear?" said Sir Hilton, for want of something better to say.

"Yes, love. I have ordered the carriage round, to drive over to Hanby."

"To Hanby, dear?"

"Yes. Mr Browse drove by while I was at the vicarage," said the lady, in a tone of disgust. "That man is in arrear with his rent for the farm. The vicar said he supposed the man was going to the races, and I am going over to see his wife."

"For goodness' sake, don't go and interfere, my dear," cried Sir Hilton, anxiously. "It would get talked about so at the Tilborough Market, and spread in all directions."

"It would not matter, that I see," said her ladyship, haughtily. "But I was not going to interfere. I might, perhaps, say a word or two of condolence to poor Mrs Browse, and point out how much happier she would be if her husband followed the example of mine."

"But, hang it all, Laura, he can't try to enter into Parliament!"

"No, my love, but he could give up horse-racing."

"Surely you are not going over there--to drive all those miles--to say that?"

"No, my love, only to help carry on your election contest, and be in time. Mr Browse is in my--our debt, according to Mr Trimmer's figures, for a whole year's rental of the farm."

"But you mustn't go and dun people."

"Dun, Hilton?"

"Well, collect rents. Leave that to Trimmer."

"Of course I shall, my dear," said her ladyship, with a condescending smile. "I am going over to name that circ.u.mstance of their indebtedness to me--us, and to tell her that I shall expect Mr Browse to vote for you. She will compel her husband to do so, and that will ensure one vote."

"The grey mare's the better horse," said Sir Hilton to himself, and he was thinking of the train of circ.u.mstances in connection with the race, and planning to rush off and try to forestall the doctor's risking money, as he sat back in his chair, when, slowly slouching along after pa.s.sing through the swing gate, one of the regular hangers-on of a race-meeting approached the house. His aspect was battered, and the pink hunting-coat--one which had seen very much better days--was rubbed to whiteness here and greased to blackness there. It was frayed and patched, and wore the general aspect of having been used as a sleeping garment on occasion, being decorated with sc.r.a.ps of hay, p.r.i.c.kly seed vessels, and the like, in addition to the chalky dust of the road, a good deal of which powdered the round-topped, peaked hunting cap, once of black velvet, now all fibre, with scarcely a trace of nap.

The coat was closely b.u.t.toned up to the throat, and a pair of much-worn cord trousers completed the man's costume, all but his boots, which were ornamented with slashings, for the benefit, probably, of bunions, for if intended for effect, after the fashion of an old stuffed doublet, the effort was a mistake.

But there was no mistake about the man's profession. He was hall-marked "tramp" by his blear eyes and horribly reddened, bulbous nose, and racing-tout by the packet of race-cards peering out of his breast-pocket. But evidently he was a man of much invention, inasmuch as from a desire to do a little trading on his way from racecourse to racecourse, or for an excuse to find his way to houses where he might pick up unconsidered trifles, cadging, filching, and the like, he carried in one hand a fat, white mongrel puppy, with a bit of blue ribbon tied about its neck. As a dog, it was about as bad a specimen as could be met with in a day's march; but it had one advantage over its owner--it was scrupulously clean.

The squire of the Denes was not within the scope of the tramp's view, as he loafed up with his blear eyes twinkling; and for the moment the shape of the room hid Lady Lisle, till the big Persian cat, the minute before apparently fast asleep, curled up on an ottoman upon which the sun shone warmly, suddenly smelt dog, and sprang to all fours, arching its back, bottle-brushing its tail, and baring its white teeth, as it began to swear loudly.

"Oh, Khan, Khan, what is the matter?" cried Lady Lisle, taking a step or two towards the cat, and then stopping short with "Oh, Hilton, my love, send this dreadful man away!"

"Buy a lovely little dawg, my lady," cried the tramp, now close up to the window, and smiling, whining, and leering in. "Puss, puss, puss!

Look at 'em! They'll make friends in a minute."

He reached in a hand and set the puppy down on the Turkey carpet, when the idiotic-looking little object, after the manner of its kind, began slowly to blunder towards the lordly Persian yclept Khan, to the imminent risk of having its eyes scratched out.

"Look at the pretty creetur, my lady," whined the man. "Two guineas is the price, but seeing its you, my lady, and a good home for the little beauty, say one pun, and he's yours."

"Take your dirty whelp up and be off, you scoundrel!" cried Sir Hilton, in a pa.s.sion, and deftly placing the toe of his boot under the puppy he lifted it and sent it flying through the window, to be fielded cleverly and without pain by its owner.

"What, my n.o.ble Capting! What, my n.o.ble barrowknight, you here? You are a sight for sore eyes. You ain't forgot Dandy Dinny?"

"Forgotten you? No, you scoundrel!"

"Just your old self again, Sir Rilton. Why, bless me! this is like old times. Here, c'rect card, Sir Rilton; all the names colours, jocks, and starters. Take a dozen, your lordship; you'll want 'em for your lady-friends on the course."

"Be off, sir! How dare you trespa.s.s on my premises!"

"Trespa.s.s, Sir Rilton? I wouldn't do such a thing. There, I knowed you'd never drop the Turf. Whats yer 'oss's name?"

"Cut!" cried Sir Hilton, fiercely.

"Is it, now? A sharp 'un, then, as'll show the field its four blessed racing plates. A dark 'un, your honour?"

"Will you be off, you scoundrel!"

"Off, your honour, in a jiffy, ready to look out for you on the course.

But you'll buy the little dawg for her lovely ladyship?"

"Take the miserable mongrel away."

"But such a companion for the long-haired tom puss, Sir Rilton."

"Did you hear me tell you to go, sir?"

"Yes, your honour," whispered the man, shuffling his "c'rect cards" back into his pocket with one hand, and leaning forward into the room to whisper: "I'm 'orrid hard up, Sir Rilton. Give us a tip for the cup to help a pore fellow get a honest livin'. You'll do that for your pore old friend as touted for you all these years?"