Sir Hilton's Sin Part 43

"Yes, of course. I want Mark and that girl."

"What girl, uncle?" cried the lad, indignantly.

"What girl, sir? Jane, the maid. Where are they?"

"Gone to the pantry, I s'pose, uncle," said Syd, giving a glance in the direction of the couch and seeing nothing now but the hump of white, woolly skin. "Gone to bed, p'raps. I say, uncle; do go too. You'll be able to think better when you wake up."

"Wake up!" said Sir Hilton, musingly--"remember? Yes; something about a boy--no, a girl on a bicycle. I did, didn't I?--talk to a girl--or see one on a bicycle--no, it was in pale blue and scarlet I did, didn't I, Sam?"

"Yes, sir; I think you did--to my gal there."

Sir Hilton looked in the direction in which the trainer pointed, and saw the Polar bear skin; nothing more.

"Where?" he said vacantly, as he turned his eyes back upon the trainer, who was wiping the drops again from his steaming face. "Your girl--Mary Ann Simpkins--La Sylphide?"

"Oh, pore chap, he's quite off his head!" groaned the trainer. "It means a 'sylum, and if old Trimmer splits--"

"Ha!" cried Sir Hilton, in a tone which made the trainer spring to his feet, staring wildly at the speaker.

"Here, uncle, don't go on like that," said Syd, soothingly. "I wish old Granton were here with a straight waistcoat. Here, Sam Simpkins help me! It's all your fault. Don't seize a fellow like that, uncle? Help, Sam! He's got 'em horrid, and it must be with the stuff he had in your place."

"Now, don't you go and say such a thing as that, young gen'leman," cried the trainer, fiercely, as he tried to take hold of Sir Hilton's arm.

"Here, let's get him to bed, and you'd better send for your doctor."

"Be quiet, both of you," cried Sir Hilton, shaking himself free. "My head's clear now, but I must have been ill; my head has been horribly mixed up. Yes, I recollect now; but speak low. Don't make a noise, or you'll be having her ladyship down."

"I believe she has been listening all the time. Oh, uncle, there will be such a scene in the morning."

"Yes, my boy," said Sir Hilton, nervously; "but we must hush it up.

Yes, that's it; I promised Lady Tilborough I'd ride her mare."

"Yes, uncle; that's right."

"And somehow I couldn't get to the saddling paddock."

"Why, you're going back again now, uncle."

"No, my boy. I can see it all clearly enough now. I couldn't get there after that champagne--"

Simpkins had hard work to suppress a groan.

"Some little syren of a girl got hold of me and kept me back so that I lost the race, Lady Tilborough's money, and my four thousand pounds."

"Don't, uncle! Pull yourself together. You're sliding back again."

"Yes; stop him," cried the trainer, seizing his victim and shaking him hard. "Don't go back, Sir Hilton; if you don't come round now, see what it means for me and my pore gal."

"Oh, uncle, you're going off again," said Syd, excitedly. "Do hold on to something, and don't keep sliding back. Try--try. Now give your head a good shake to make it work. Here, Sam Simpkins, don't you think we might give him a dose of spirits to wind him up?"

"No, no," cried the trainer, excitedly. "With a head like this there is no knowing what might happen to him."

"But I can't let him stop like this. There, don't waggle your head any more, uncle; try if you can remember now."

"No; nothing but the bees, my boy."

"The bees?"

"Yes, my boy, and the rushing after the poll. Oh, yes, I'm beginning to recollect now. The election, and the race against Watcombe, the brewer."

"Race?" cried Syd. "That's the right clue, uncle. Now you're beginning to go again. That shaking did it. Now hold tight to the 'race.'"

"Yes, my boy; I remember all right now; heading the poll and leaving the brewer nowhere."

"No, no; the race, uncle--the race."

"Of course, my boy. It's all coming back now. That bad champagne and the buzzing of the bees."

"Oh, dear!" groaned the trainer; "he don't forget that, and he's off again."

"To be sure," cried Sir Hilton, eagerly. "I recollect. It was ever so long ago, and the speaker was--"

"No, no, uncle; you're getting mixed again. The starter."

"No, my boy, the speaker in the chair, and the bell was ringing."

"That's right, uncle, to clear the course. Now you're all right!"

"Yes, now I'm all right, my boy. I was in and there was a division. I rushed through the Lobby, and out into the fresh air. The mare was ready. Someone gave me a leg-up, and I was all excitement for the race."

"That's your sort, uncle," cried Syd, as with his eyes fixed on one of the moonlit windows, Sir Hilton stopped, panting as if out of breath.

"Bravo! Stick to the rage. He's coming round fast now, Sam."

"No, no; look at him. He's as mad as a hatter."

"Yes," cried Sir Hilton; "then, before I knew where we were, and without waiting for the starter, away we went. Parliament Street was pa.s.sed in a stride--the mob scattered right and left. Charing Cross and the lions--c.o.c.kspur Street--Pall Mall--whirr--buzz--away we went, with the bees swarming round my head. Just at the corner by the clubs I wrenched her head round, and she bounded up Saint James's Street. A drag to the left, and we were in Piccadilly. A road-car was in the way, but she cleared it in a bound. Cabs strewed the earth, for the strike was over; but she took them all in her stride as we dashed on, just catching a glimpse of the houses to the right--the Green Park to the left. Then, clearing a penny 'bus at Hyde Park Corner, we nearly rushed into the hospital doors. Again I wrenched her head, turning in my saddle in time to see a pa.s.senger on the knifeboard pick up his hat. Then down Const.i.tution Hill we swept as if gliding along a chute. In my wild excitement, as we darted by the Palace, I yelled out, 'G.o.d save the King!' But he was not at home, and we were urging on our wild career past the barracks, along the Bird-cage Walk. The ducks whirred up from the pool, the people shrieked, as we scattered perambulators, nursemaids, and children, flying like leaves upon the wind. Storey's Gate was closed, but the mare laughed--a loud, weird laugh--as she cleared it, and we dropped in Great George Street, where a newsboy yelled 'winners!' with the Parliament House in sight. 'We win--we win!'

I cried, for it was the goal. 'Give her her head!' the people yelled, but the mare took it. She stretched her neck right into infinite s.p.a.ce, my silk swelled out like a bubble, and feeling that I must steer now I drew on the reins, hand over hand--hand over hand--to feel her head; but it was half a mile away. At last I got a bite. She took the bait--the bit in her teeth, and I struck, turned her, and we dashed through Palace Yard again, straight for the great Hall doors. 'M.P. mustn't pa.s.s!'

shouted an inspector, throwing out his arms. 'Head of the poll!' I yelled, and the mare went through him like a flash, as we reached the Lobby once more. There was the straight run in, and holding her well in hand I lifted her over the gangway and settled down to win. How they cheered! Opposition to right of me, Government to left of me, and the Speaker ahead of me, waving me on. 'The Ayes have it! The Noes! The Ayes! The Noes! They volleyed, they thundered.

'Vide--'vide--'vide--'vide!' and the mare 'vided them as we still tore on, nearer and nearer, till the curls in the Speaker's wig grew clear, and then the whites of his eyes. Nearer and nearer in the mad excitement of the race, till with one final rush we pa.s.sed the Mace, the Irish party rising as one man, and ran past the winning-post right into Parliament to the roaring of their wild hurroo!"

"Bravo! Hurroo!" shouted Syd, as his uncle stopped, panting heavily again. "That was how you did it. You won; only you've got it a bit mixed. But you're coming round. I say, you feel ever so much better, don't you, for getting rid of that?"

"Oh, it's all over, my lad," cried the trainer. "Did you ever hear the like?"

"It's only excitement," said Syd. "Look at him; he's calming down now beautifully. You see, he'd got two things on his brain--the race and the election--and having been a bit screwed with the bad stuff you let him have, he naturally got himself a bit mixed."

"Mixed?" said Sir Hilton, turning upon the boy sharply. "Wasn't I talking about something just now? But look, look at that man Simpkins rolling his eyes about. Is he going mad?"

"Not a bit o' it, Sir Hilton; it's you as is mad. Ain't it enough as I've lost what I have?"