“Do you hear me, sir? Leave the girl alone. You don’t want everyone to know you’re just married—hugging her that how.”
“Yes, I do, all the world and everybody,” cried Syd. “We’re married, but we’re awfully in love with each other still—aren’t we, darling?”
“Awfully, Syd,” cried Molly, hanging to him.
“Well, I s’pose that’s all right,” grumbled the trainer, “and of course what’s done, as I said afore, can’t be undone. But, look here; I mean my gal to have her rights.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And I understand you mean to do the proper thing by her?”
“Yes, dad. To be sure he does, and you’re going to be ever so proud of Syd—proud as I am.”
“Well, I don’t quite know that, but I’ve got something else to think about now, and so, after what you’ve said square and ’andsome, young gen’leman, here’s my ’art and here’s my ’and.”
The trainer illustrated his last words by putting his left hand upon his chest, too low down to satisfy an anatomist, and holding out his right.
“There,” he continued, after the business of shaking hands had been gone through, “all this talking has made me husky, so we’ll have a glass of fizz, son-in-law, in honour of the occasion, just to wash it down.”