e just married--hugging her that how."

"Yes, I do, all the world and everybody," cried Syd. "We're married,
but we're awfully in love with each other still--aren't we, darling?"

"Awfully, Syd," cried Molly, hanging to him.

"Well, I s'pose that's all right," grumbled the trainer, "and of course
what's done, as I said afore, can't be undone. But, look here; I mean
my gal to have her rights."

"Of course, sir."

"And I understand you mean to do the proper thing by her?"

"Yes, dad. To be sure he does, and you're going to be ever so proud of
Syd--proud as I am."

"Well, I don't quite know that, but I've got something else to think
about now, and so, after what you've said square and 'andsome, young
gen'leman, here's my 'art and here's my 'and."

The trainer illustrated his last words by putting his left hand upon his
chest, too low down to satisfy an anatomist, and holding out his right.

"There," he continued, after the business of shaking hands had been gone
through, "all this talking has made me husky, so we'll have a glass of
fizz, son-in-law, in honour of the occasion, just to wash it down."

"No, no, no, no!" cried the girl. "Syd and I want to get out on the
common to see all the races."

"Bah! You two won't be thinking about the races, I know. Look here,
though, son-in-law. Some day, I'll give you the right tip;" and then,
in a whisper from behind his hand, "Jim Crow--the dark horse."

"What for?"

"What for?" cried the trainer, contemptuously. "Why, the cup."

"Nonsense?"

"That's right, boy."

"No, no," cried Syd, giving his young wife's arm a hug. "La Sylphide."

"Out of it. Jock in a straight weskit."

"Out of it be hanged, sir! She runs to win, with Uncle Hilton up."

"Come along, Syd," cried Molly, and the pair ran out like a couple of
schoolchildren, nearly cannoning against Mark Willows, who was coming up
with Sir Hilton's bag and overcoat, and making him turn to look after
them, while Sam Simpkins stood gasping like a great, red-faced carp
which had leaped out of the edge of a pond and landed in an element not
suited to its nature.

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--"

M