“Give me yours now, then, Sam, and I shall be for ever grateful.”
“Anything to oblige an old patron, sir.—All right, I’m a-coming,” cried the trainer, in answer to a call from one of the servants, who came out of a side door. “What is it?”
“Wanted by one of the men from the stables.”
“All right. Here, you look out and hedge all you can, sir. Jim Crow’s your game.”
“The dark horse,” groaned the doctor, wildly; “he must be black. Ah, poor darling, there she is!”
For Lady Tilborough came back, in her quick, eager way. “Ah, doctor, still here?” she cried. “Where’s that scoundrel Simpkins? Hallo! What’s the matter? Bad news?”
“Yes, horrible, I didn’t know. It’s ruin for me; but I don’t care; I’m in agony about you and the losses it means to you.”
“What!” cried the lady, turning pale. “Is there another crux?”
“Yes,” cried the doctor, catching her hands, and the genuine tears stood in his eyes.
“Don’t shilly-shally, man,” she cried angrily. “Out with it, and get it over.”