“No, thanks; that will do. Bah! I can taste it now,” said Sir Hilton, snappishly, and he smacked his lips, and then passed his tongue over them two or three times as he walked hastily up and down, tapping his boot with the gold-mounted whip he held.
Simpkins watched him furtively and moved towards the bar, but turned, and seemed to force himself to his guest’s side. “Oh, yes, Sir Hilton,” he said, “you’ll win; and it’ll be, as I said afore, two ’underd in my pocket, while, if you lose, which you won’t, it’ll bring me within a fiver or so of home.”
“Get away! Don’t bother,” said his victim, sharply.
“Right, Sir Hilton. Course you’ve a deal on your head now, but, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I’ll have half a glass more of that wine before it gets flat.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the baronet. “Thank ye, Sir Hilton,” said the man, refilling his glass, to stand watching his visitor while sipping slowly, and muttering every time he raised his trembling hand something about “good glass of wine.”
Suddenly Sir Hilton made a quick turn and walked sharply towards the door, making the trainer set down his glass hurriedly, glance at the bar-window to see if he was observed, and then follow his guest to the door; but, before he reached it, the baronet turned round and walked back, close by the landlord, without appearing to notice him.
“Can’t stand it no longer,” muttered the man to himself. “Hah! Wonder whether it will come off?”
He glanced at his victim sharply, saw that he was talking softly to himself in the intervals of passing his tongue impatiently over his lips and making a peculiar sound as if tasting.
“Tlat, tlat, tlat! Too dry. Burns and smarts,” he said impatiently, and then clapped his hand quickly to his head.
“Why not try another glass, Sir Hilton?” said the trainer; but no heed was taken of his words.