Tony and His Conscience
The taxi pulled up with a jerk opposite Hyde Court Mansions, and the Honourable Reginald Seton, in the glossiest of top hats and the most delicate of grey frock-coats, stepped out carefully on to the pavement. Then, with the graceful deliberation that marked all his movements, he extracted half-a-crown from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to the driver.
The man pocketed the coin with a wheezy "Thank ye, sir," and, leaning over from his box, inquired furtively, "Wot's goin' to win ter-day, guv'nor?"
Reggie sighed.
"My bookmaker," he said, adjusting his field-glasses to a nicer angle. Then, with his head slightly on one side, he mounted the two or three stone steps that led into the big block of flats.
The liftman, who looked like a dirty edition of the All Highest, touched his cap as Reggie approached.
"Mr. Delmar's flat, sir?" he inquired, opening the door.
Reggie nodded.
"They tell me, sir," pursued the liftman, as he and Reggie progressed heavenwards, "that Little Eva's very 'ot to-day—very 'ot indeed, sir."
"How unpleasant for her jockey!" replied Reggie, with a slight shudder.