“Now, don’t you go and say such a thing as that, young gen’leman,” cried the trainer, fiercely, as he tried to take hold of Sir Hilton’s arm. “Here, let’s get him to bed, and you’d better send for your doctor.”
“Be quiet, both of you,” cried Sir Hilton, shaking himself free. “My head’s clear now, but I must have been ill; my head has been horribly mixed up. Yes, I recollect now; but speak low. Don’t make a noise, or you’ll be having her ladyship down.”
“I believe she has been listening all the time. Oh, uncle, there will be such a scene in the morning.”
“Yes, my boy,” said Sir Hilton, nervously; “but we must hush it up. Yes, that’s it; I promised Lady Tilborough I’d ride her mare.”
“Yes, uncle; that’s right.”
“And somehow I couldn’t get to the saddling paddock.”
“Why, you’re going back again now, uncle.”
“No, my boy. I can see it all clearly enough now. I couldn’t get there after that champagne—”
Simpkins had hard work to suppress a groan.
“Some little syren of a girl got hold of me and kept me back so that I lost the race, Lady Tilborough’s money, and my four thousand pounds.”