Sir Hilton's Sin Part 35

"That's right, my la.s.s; be careful; don't leave any bits."

As he spoke he lifted the little marble table out of the maid's way and filled the gla.s.ses again, before raising the waiter to hand it for the second time to his guest.

"No, no, Sam; one's enough."

"What, Sir Hilton! You won't wet the other eye?"

"No, not even if I were not going to ride. That wine's bad."

"Bad, Sir Hilton?" cried the trainer, raising his own gla.s.s to the light, sniffing at it, tasting it cautiously, and then looking again at his visitor. "Mouth must be a bit out o' taste with the excitement.

Seems to me--" He raised his gla.s.s to his lips again, took a good pull, and then drained and set it down. "Beg your pardon, Sir Hilton," he said; "I don't set up for a judge, but I wouldn't wish to taste a better drop o' cham than that."

"Glad you like it," said Sir Hilton, tetchily.

"Try it again, sir. Give your mouth a rinse out with it, and then finish the gla.s.s."

"No, thanks; that will do. Bah! I can taste it now," said Sir Hilton, snappishly, and he smacked his lips, and then pa.s.sed his tongue over them two or three times as he walked hastily up and down, tapping his boot with the gold-mounted whip he held.

Simpkins watched him furtively and moved towards the bar, but turned, and seemed to force himself to his guest's side. "Oh, yes, Sir Hilton,"

he said, "you'll win; and it'll be, as I said afore, two 'underd in my pocket, while, if you lose, which you won't, it'll bring me within a fiver or so of home."

"Get away! Don't bother," said his victim, sharply.

"Right, Sir Hilton. Course you've a deal on your head now, but, if you wouldn't mind, I think I'll have half a gla.s.s more of that wine before it gets flat."

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the baronet. "Thank ye, Sir Hilton," said the man, refilling his gla.s.s, to stand watching his visitor while sipping slowly, and muttering every time he raised his trembling hand something about "good gla.s.s of wine."

Suddenly Sir Hilton made a quick turn and walked sharply towards the door, making the trainer set down his gla.s.s hurriedly, glance at the bar-window to see if he was observed, and then follow his guest to the door; but, before he reached it, the baronet turned round and walked back, close by the landlord, without appearing to notice him.

"Can't stand it no longer," muttered the man to himself. "Hah! Wonder whether it will come off?"

He glanced at his victim sharply, saw that he was talking softly to himself in the intervals of pa.s.sing his tongue impatiently over his lips and making a peculiar sound as if tasting.

"Tlat, tlat, tlat! Too dry. Burns and smarts," he said impatiently, and then clapped his hand quickly to his head.

"Why not try another gla.s.s, Sir Hilton?" said the trainer; but no heed was taken of his words.

"It's a-working," muttered the man. "Hope I didn't give him too much."

He glanced at the bright blue and scarlet figure again, and then, drawing a deep breath he once more moved towards the door of his office, where he stopped inside watching.

"Why, it's like giving him the jumps," he muttered. "Well, if it do go wrong, I ain't done nothing. It's the drink. He must ha' been having it heavy before he came here; and if that won't do, I'm blest if I'm going to stand the racket all alone."

He stood watching his victim for quite ten minutes, during which time the drug he had administered, one of whose properties as a trainer and veterinary surgeon he was well aware, was working with wonderful rapidity; and this was accelerated suddenly by Sir Hilton's action, for to the trainer's great delight, the poor fellow gave a lurch which brought him near the little table, where he recovered himself, saw the bottle and gla.s.s, and seized the former with his left hand.

"Dry--thirsty!" he said hurriedly; and making an effort he poured out another gla.s.s of wine, drained it, and was in the act of setting down the gla.s.s when Granton came hurrying in, and Simpkins drew back out of sight.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HOW THE BEES SWARMED.

"Ah, Hilt, old chap, there you are! Lady T. says you must come at once, and--Hang it, man, don't do that!"

Sir Hilton turned on hearing the familiar voice and stared at the speaker, who s.n.a.t.c.hed the bottle from his hand.

"What are you doing?" he said sharply, as the doctor held the bottle up to the light.

"What am I doing?" cried Granton, in a rage. "Hang it, man, you've never been such a fool as to drink all this?"

"Yes; horrid stuff--dry--horribly dry."

He smacked his lips two or three times over and shook his head, repeating the action, and then turned to walk right across the hall towards the door.

"C'rect cards, gents; all the runners--on'y a shilling!" come from Dandy Dinny, who appeared in the porch, staring in with curious eyes.

"Get out--curse you!" cried Sir Hilton, making a couple of sharp lashes with his whip in the man's direction. "Take the miserable mongrel away.

Dogs indeed! Dog! Man don't want dogs who's going to ride a big race."

"No, nor bad cham neither," cried Granton, furiously, catching his old friend by the arm. "Why, Hilt, you must have been mad."

"Eh? Mad? Yes, she makes me very mad sometimes."

"Bah! Mad to go on the drink at a time like this. Here, pull yourself together, man."

"Drink?" said Sir Hilton, sharply, his voice perfectly clear and distinct. "Yes, cursed stuff! Gooseberry wine, I believe. Vintage of France? Pish! Pretty France! Old gooseberry! Don't order any more, Jack. Dry champagne; dry enough to mix with paint. Have S. and B."

"Here, I'm not going to bully you now. Shake yourself up. You must be coming on now."

"Eh? What for? Coming on?"

"Yes!" cried Granton, in a pa.s.sion. "Hang it, man, you're regularly fuddled!"

"Fuddled? I? Absurd! Only a gla.s.s or two. Look at me. Fuddled!

You're a fool, Jack! Oh, yes, I remember--the race."

"Then come on," cried Granton. "You look all right."

"Oh, yes, I'm all right. Did you think I was tight?"

"Well, something of the kind. Come along."

"Don't hang on to a man like that," said Sir Hilton, shaking himself free with an angry jerk. "Want to spoil my satin? Hi! Ha! Sh!"

He made a rush, and two or three cuts in the air with his whip, which the trainer, who was standing back in the office watching, took to mean given at him, and slipped behind the door.

Granton did not see him, his attention being taken up by the insane action of his friend, whom he once more caught by the arm.