Chapter Fourteen.
The Trainer’s Tips.
“Nonsense!” gasped the trainer, as soon as he could get his breath after the staggerer he had received. “The boy’s in love—mad—don’t know what he’s a-saying of.”
“Well, I’m blest!” said Mark, turning round with a grin on his face. “He’s begun to crow early. Day, Mr Simpkins. I say—”
Mark did not say anything, but winked and jerked his thumb over his right shoulder in the direction the young couple had taken.
“What do you want?” growled the trainer, surlily.
“Room for the guv’nor—Sir Hilton Lisle, Bart—to dress for the race.”
“Then it is true,” said the trainer to himself, as to hide his face from the groom he turned his back, walked to a bell-handle, and pulled it violently before returning.