d view of the
race."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

LA SYLPHIDE'S HEALTH.

"Orty, stuck-up popinjay!" growled the trainer, mopping his forehead.
"But she's got to come down. And me on pins and needles all the time
for fear he should open his door and she see him! I did feel as if it
might be right to let her, but his monkey would have been up, and she
couldn't have stopped him from riding. Hullo!" he said, as he saw
Trimmer at the office-door. "Not gone!"

"No," whispered the agent. "I felt obliged to stay."

"And I feel obliged to kick you out. So cut."

"No, no, Mr Simpkins."

"Look here, sir, if that job's to be done, I can do it. I don't want no
complications. You can stand by me if it gets blown and there's a job
for the police. As it is, I'll do it or not do it, without your
meddling and putting in your spoon. Take your hook, dyer hear, and
before he comes."

At that very moment there was the rattle of a door handle in the
gallery, and a familiar voice exclaimed: "One moment, Sir Hilton, you've
left your whip."

"Give it me; but she'll want no whip."

The trainer made a fierce gesture, and the agent retreated through the
office, while the former thrust his fat finger and thumb into his
waistcoat pocket unconsciously as he advanced towards the foot of the
stairs, down which Sir Hilton came carefully, so as not to catch his
spurs in the carpet, and closely followed by Mark Willows, bearing a
long drab greatcoat. The baronet looked the very pink of a
gentleman-rider in his light-blue satin shirt, diagonally crossed over
the right shoulder by a broad scarlet scarf-like band, and scarlet
jockey cap to match. His breeches and boots fitted to perfection, and
as he stepped lightly into the middle of the hall, almost on the very
spot which his wife had occupied, there was a keen look in his grey eyes
and a slight quivering about his well-cut nostrils, making him seem
alert, ready, and quite the man who might be trusted with a race.

"There," he said sharply; "how long have I to spare?"

"Good half-hour, sir," said the trainer, gazing at his guest as if full
of pride at his appearance.

"Leave that coat on the chair, there, man, and go and wait for me at the
paddock."

Mark touched his hat and passed out, eager to get on to the field of
battle, swarming with objects of interest to the groom's eyes, while
Simpkins approached his guest, smiling and rubbing his hands.

"Well, Sam," said Sir Hilton, s