cle, in knickerbockers?"

"Yes, sir, a girl in knickerbockers. None of your sham innocency with
me. Here, I know; it's La Sylphide."

"La what, uncle?"

"Mary Ann--old Simpkins's daughter. That Tilborough barmaid girl.
Here, speak up. What does this mean? Never mind; I can't stop to talk
to you now, but--go and slip that bag into the dogcart, Mark, and see
that it's ready."

"All ready, Sir Hilton. I told Jim to be sharp, and I heard the
wheels."

"That's right. But you saw, Mark. Wasn't that Miss Simpkins?"

"Didn't see her face, Sir Hilton; only her back."

"Well, never mind now, I've no time. But look here, sir, I'll have this
over when I come back, and if I find that you--you shrimp of a boy--have
been carrying on a flirtation with that saucy music-hall hussy, I'll
wale your jacket with one of the joints of that fishing-rod. A boy like
you! What's that you say?"

"No, you won't, uncle."

"What!" roared Sir Hilton.

"If you touch me I'll tell aunt of the game you're carrying on with Lady
Tilborough."

Mark said afterwards to Jane that the guv'nor looked as if you could
have knocked him down with a feather.

But the baronet recovered himself.

"What!" he cried. "Lady Tilborough? Because that lady happens to call
here when your aunt is out, you dare to--to insinuate--you vile young
viper--that--that--"

"Here, tit for tat, uncle. I'm not a baby," said the boy. "I know.
Gammon! Lady T. don't visit with aunt, and I can see your little game."

"My little game, sir!" stuttered Sir Hilton.

"Yes; you're carrying on some game with her ladyship about the races.
You told aunt you'd given up all racing."

"Of course, sir!" cried Sir Hilton.

"Yes, and Dr Jack Granton's been here to take your instructions this
morning; Lady Tilborough rides over to see you on the sly as soon as
auntie's out; and Marky's had orders to get the dogcart ready and pack
your traps. Why, uncle," shouted the boy as a sudden idea glanced
through his sharp young mind, "you're going to ride!"

"Hush!" shouted the guilty man, seizing the boy and clapping a hand over
his mouth. "Silence, you wicked young scoundrel!"

Mark rushed out with the bag to hide the guffaw ready to burst forth.

Then there was a short struggle, and the boy got his mouth free and
began to roar with laughter, as he gazed merrily in his uncle's face.

"Here's a game!" he cried. "Bowled out, nunky. Look here, I won't
split. I want to go t