the speaker.

"Here, uncle, don't go on like that," said Syd, soothingly. "I wish old
Granton were here with a straight waistcoat. Here, Sam Simpkins help
me! It's all your fault. Don't seize a fellow like that, uncle? Help,
Sam! He's got 'em horrid, and it must be with the stuff he had in your
place."

"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."

"Don't, uncle! Pull yourself together. You're sliding back again."

"Yes; stop him," cried the trainer, seizing his victim and shaking him
hard. "Don't go back, Sir Hilton; if you don't come round now, see what
it means for me and my pore gal."

"Oh, uncle, you're going off again," said Syd, excitedly. "Do hold on
to something, and don't keep sliding back. Try--try. Now give your
head a good shake to make it work. Here, Sam Simpkins, don't you think
we might give him a dose of spirits to wind him up?"

"No, no," cried the trainer, excitedly. "With a head like this there is
no knowing what might happen to him."

"But I can't let him stop like this. There, don't waggle your head any
more, uncle; try if you can remember now."

"No; nothing but the bees, my boy."

"The bees?"

"Yes, my boy, and the rushing after the poll. Oh, yes, I'm beginning to
recollect now. The election, and the race against Watcombe, the
brewer."

"Race?" cried Syd. "That's the right clue, uncle. Now you're beginning