id sharply, as the doctor held the bottle up
to the light.

"What am I doing?" cried Granton, in a rage. "Hang it, man, you've
never been such a fool as to drink all this?"

"Yes; horrid stuff--dry--horribly dry."

He smacked his lips two or three times over and shook his head,
repeating the action, and then turned to walk right across the hall
towards the door.

"C'rect cards, gents; all the runners--on'y a shilling!" come from Dandy
Dinny, who appeared in the porch, staring in with curious eyes.

"Get out--curse you!" cried Sir Hilton, making a couple of sharp lashes
with his whip in the man's direction. "Take the miserable mongrel away.
Dogs indeed! Dog! Man don't want dogs who's going to ride a big
race."

"No, nor bad cham neither," cried Granton, furiously, catching his old
friend by the arm. "Why, Hilt, you must have been mad."

"Eh? Mad? Yes, she makes me very mad sometimes."

"Bah! Mad to go on the drink at a time like this. Here, pull yourself
together, man."

"Drink?" said Sir Hilton, sharply, his voice perfectly clear and
distinct. "Yes, cursed stuff! Gooseberry wine, I believe. Vintage of
France? Pish! Pretty France! Old gooseberry! Don't order any more,
Jack. Dry champagne; dry enough to mix with paint. Have S. and B."

"Here, I'm not going to bully you now. Shake yourself up. You must be
coming on now."

"Eh? What for? Coming on?"

"Yes!" cried Granton, in a passion. "Hang it, man, you're regularly
fuddled!"

"Fuddled? I? Absurd! Only a glass or two. Look at me. Fuddled!
You're a fool, Jack! Oh, yes, I remember--the race."

"Then come on," cried Granton. "You look all right."

"Oh, yes, I'm all right. Did you think I was tight?"

"Well, something of the kind. Come along."

"Don't hang on to a man like that," said Sir Hilton, shaking himself
free with an angry jerk. "Want to spoil my satin? Hi! Ha! Sh!"

He made a rush, and two or three cuts in the air with his whip, which
the trainer, who was standing back in the office watching, took to mean
given at him, and slipped behind the door.

Granton did not see him, his attention being taken up by the insane
action of his friend, whom he once more caught by the arm.

"What's the matter with you?" he shouted. "Are you going daft?"

"Eh? What?" cried Sir Hilton, looking at him angrily. "Nonsense!
Can't you see the little beasts?"

"D.T., by jingo!" muttered the doctor. "Why, he must have been on