Sir Hilton's Sin Part 28

"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 ill.u.s.trated 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 gla.s.s 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.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE TRAINER'S TIPS.

"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.