ir
Hilton. Puts me in mind o' the good old days. My word! Who'd ha'
thought it? I jest heered of it. And you're going to ride, Sir
Hilton?"

"I am, Sam."

"Your old mare, Sir Hilton?"

"No," said Sir Hilton, frowning. "My old friend Lady Tilborough's mare,
in consequence of--"

"Yes, I heered, Sir Hilton; her jockey, Josh Rowle's been on the drink
again. Dear, dear! I keep a house, but what I say to people who come
to my bar or to the tap is--"

"Yes--yes, I know. My man here?"

"Yes, Sir Hilton. Up in your old room, number one. But, ahem! Beg
pardon, Sir Hilton, you can trust me," said the trainer, dropping his
voice. "Do you, eh--understand me, Sir Hilton--man who's seen a deal o'
business for you--you--you don't ride to win?"

"Why, you--"

"Ah, Hilt, dear boy!" cried Lady Tilborough, hurrying in. "I saw you
come up to the porch, but couldn't overtake you. Man of your word."

"I hope so," said Sir Hilton, turning to give the old trainer a
withering look.

"Oh, murder!" muttered the man, wiping his brow, now all covered with a
heavy dew. "What shall I do? It's a smasher."

"Seen our beauty?" said Lady Tilborough.

"Yes; I've been to look. She's in splendid form."

"Thank you, old man; that does me good."

"A bit too fine, though," continued Sir Hilton, who had been watching
the trainer narrowly, and seeing his state and guessing the cause, felt
a little compassionate. "What do you say, Sam?"

"Well, Sir Hilton, if you ask me, I say I haven't had her training
lately, but I'll give you, an old patron, my honest opinion--not a bit,
sir--and if you'll take my advice you'll play a quiet game with the
mare. That's the winning card."

"Nonsense!" cried Sir Hilton, contemptuously.

"Just listen to him, my lady. Here has he been out of the game all this
time, while I've been watching La Sylphide's work at every race. I asks
you, my lady, Is there anyone as knows the mare's action, temper and
staying powers better than me?"

"He's right there, Hilt," said Lady Tilborough.

"To some extent, yes," said the gentleman addressed.

"Thank ye, Sir Hilton. Then look here; nobody would like to see you
come first past the post more than your old trainer."

"Would you, Sam?" said Sir Hilton, with a queer look at the speaker.

"All right, Sir Hilton. I understand yer alloosion. I may've got a bit
on Jim Crow, consequent upon the misfortune to Josh Rowle; but," he
continued, closing one