Chapter IX: At the "trotting Nag"

It was by deliberate intention, not accident, that Lossie found the Professor alone on the day following Silver Streak's victory, and conveyed to his mind her own epicurean disgust at the associations to which Gay's new Trotting mania had exposed her, though jealousy at the increased opportunities of her cousin for meeting Carlton, was really at the bottom of her interference. Lightly, but maliciously, she ran over the whole scene, the surroundings at Waterloo Park, so utterly different to those of an ordinary race meeting, and, so far as she could see, without a gentlewoman present save Gay and herself. But when, in speaking of the "public-house ladies" present, she mentioned Min Toplady, the Professor visibly stiffened.

"A most estimable woman," he said, "and nurse to all the younger members of our family. She adored Gay, and though we lost sight of her on her marriage, I don't know anyone from whom my sister would take better a word in season than Minnie. I am shocked to hear that the poor woman has taken to racing--married a sporting publican, I fear."

Lossie shrugged her graceful shoulders as her appraising glance ran up and down the Professor's handsome, if unbraced, figure and face, then round the pictures and appointments of the room in which they sat. After all, she might do worse, if--if--but Gay was not going to have it all her own way with Carlton Mackrell. Chris Hannen was _her_ man, and the sooner she realised it the better.

"I have a great mind to go and see Minnie," said Frank nervously, "and get her to use her influence with Gay--but I don't know her address--

"Oh," said Lossie, with curling lip, "_I_ can tell you--the "Trotting Nag," Camberwell, which is precisely the place and neighbourhood where, from her appearance, you might expect to find her!"

"Now, now," protested the Professor, for unkindness is not so much a matter of speech as of atmosphere, and he thought it unbecoming that so lovely a creature as Lossie should be so acrimonious.

And yet he pitied her, without parents, without money, though why she had not married long ago, and brilliantly, was a puzzle to more worldly people than the Professor.

"Poor Frank," she said, "I'm afraid you'll find her much more Gay's ally in the matter than yours. Why don't you put your foot down _yourself_, and insist on Gay's giving up this disreputable business?"

The Professor sighed, and Lossie longed to shake him. Fearing that she might be tempted to do so, she got up to go, and she was so tall, and at that moment so beautiful in her contempt, that an unwonted thrill ran through him. After all, he was only a man, and not such a very old one at that, and reading him perfectly, she put up her face to his, and murmuring, "Dear old Frank!" kissed him with rather more than cousinly warmth in farewell.

He stood looking at the door through which she had passed with what Gay called his "gay old dog" air of reminiscence; then his thoughts reverted to Minnie, and her good influence over Gay when the latter had been a wilful, charming child, and on the spur of the moment he decided to go and see her.

It was lucky that Gay was out. It would never do for her to intercept him, and inquire where he was going, for he had a wholesome dread of his sister's discerning eye.

Upon such occasions as he invented "taradiddles" to cover more or less unlawful excursions abroad, he was invariably bowled out, and stood disconsolate, and looking justly sheepish at the emphatic "Rubbish!" with which they were received.

"You're a bad liar, Frank," Gay said one day, "and wouldn't deceive a child. But why lie at all? Besides, your memory isn't good enough."

Now he hailed a hansom, and darting into it as quickly as a rabbit into its burrow, through the trap-door gave as his destination, the "Trotting Nag," Camberwell, looking, moreover, so guilty and self-conscious, that the cabby smiled broadly as he gathered up the reins, and chirruped to his horse.

"Looks more like the British Museum than a 'pub,'" he said to himself, "but, Lord, appearances is such liars!"

The Professor squeezed himself into a corner of the cab, and tried to marshal his ideas and line of attack. He did not relish his job, as he had a lively recollection of Min Toplady's temper years ago, before she was married; he hoped that matrimony had softened her downrightness considerably, and also that her husband would be there. He felt he could count on his sympathy, if not on his support, because men always hang together where a woman is concerned.

Throughout the long drive he talked nervously to himself, and attracted much attention by his silent rhetoric and expressive gestures. His Jehu passed the wink to such other Jehus as congratulated him on his fare, and having peeped through the roof in the middle of one of the Professor's most impassioned appeals, reassured interested curb-loungers by tapping his head significantly, and turning his eyes heavenwards.

Arrived at the "Trotting Nag," the Professor was most reluctant to leave the security of the cab, and merely met the cabman's reminder that he had arrived at his destination, with an "Ah, yes; so I observe."

Finally collecting the fare from the depths of a waistcoat pocket, he thrust it hurriedly through the roof, and hastily descended. Without looking ahead, he made for the door of the public bar, entering with a run, and cannoning violently against a navvy coming out, who had consumed sufficient beer to become severely critical of the manners of other people.

This individual, having recovered his balance against the door-post, promptly inquired "where the 'ell the old image was agoin' to?" But the Professor had sought the far end of the bar, and was inquiring nervously, and with many smiles, if Mrs. Toplady could be seen.

A good-looking barmaid regarded him with speculation in her eye, then remarked:

"I think she is in. Is it about the gas?"

The Professor assured her it was not, but quite a private matter, upon which the barmaid withdrew, and a moment later Min Toplady herself emerged, and gave an exclamation of astonishment.

"Bless my soul! Why, it's Master Frank!"

The remark attracted some attention in the bar, one of the customers remarking that the Professor was "a bit old-fashioned" for a kid, as Min raised the flap of the bar, and escorted her guest through it to the parlour, where a few privileged friends had the right of entrée.

It was empty now, the harassed Professor was relieved to find, and as he stood before the fire, and looked anxiously through the door into the bar, Min's hospitable mind mistook his meaning.

"What will you be pleased to take, Master Frank?" she inquired, and the Professor looked at her blandly as his fingers flitted lightly round his face.

"Take?" he repeated. "Oh, nothing, I thank you. I seldom indulge, you know."

"Oh, but you must have something, sir, if only for the good of the house, as some of the boys say who have had more than is good for them already, just on closing time," she insisted.

The Professor thought of his errand, and in the exuberant presence of Min, felt his courage slipping away from him. Perhaps a little drop of something might revive him, he thought--a little "jumping powder," as those sporting friends of Gay's would call it.

But Min had already disappeared into the bar, and quickly returned, bearing a small glass.

"Being such a cold day, a drop of milk punch won't do you no harm, sir," she said, putting the glass down before the Professor. "It's a wonderful thing for warming the cockles of your heart, and it always does my indigestion--to which I'm a martyr--a power of good."

The Professor could trace no direct connection between the cockles of his heart and Min's indigestion, but nevertheless he took the proffered drink gratefully, and sipped it with the air of a connoisseur, while Min sat down, and racked her brains to find a reason for his visit.

A silence ensued. The Professor was temporising, but by the time his glass was empty, he felt a little more able to open the ball.

"I suppose you wonder why I am here?" he suggested, standing on one leg, and looking more like a heron than ever. "The truth is, I--er, wish to speak to you about my sister's--er--infatuation--"

"For Mr. Chris?" exclaimed Min, though all her sympathies were really with Carlton Mackrell and his Trotting proclivities. "Well, Master Frank, a good son makes a good husband all the world over--"

"No, I am glad to say she has so far not committed _that_ folly," said the Professor, "at least to my knowledge."

Min snorted. What did this fossil know about love, indeed, that he should speak so slightingly of it? The idea!

"Infatuation for what, then?" she inquired. "Come, Master Frank, out with it, and let's hear the worst, though I'm sure it can't be anything very bad where Miss Gay's concerned."

The Professor looked hopelessly around. Why did not Mr. Toplady come in, he wondered? Men are so much easier to tackle than women, and Min was always so brusque and business-like.

"My sister's infatuation (there's no other word that meets the case), is for a form of sport that I am given to understand is patronised by people who have an even lower moral standard than the followers of horse-racing. I refer to Trotting."

Min Toplady bridled visibly, strong supporters as she and her husband were of the sport he decried, and she began to see how the land lay.

"Well, I'm sure!" she exclaimed. "You've got no business to speak like that about what you don't understand. You'll excuse me, Master Frank, but you don't know what you're talking about. Me and my 'usband goes Trotting whenever we can get away, and we don't consider ourselves as dishonourable and low, as you seem to think Trotting folk are, not by no manner of means--" In obedience to a gesture from her, the barmaid appeared with a second glass of punch, deftly removed the empty one from behind the Professor's back, and disappeared.

The Professor turned nervously round, and was agreeably surprised to find a full glass awaiting his attention. Surely he had finished the first? He supposed not, however, and really, after that tirade, he felt the need of a little comfort. He raised the glass, and looked through it to the window.

"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Minnie, far from it. I fear I am unfortunate in expressing myself. I mean that people are talking about my sister associating herself with a sport"--he hesitated for a moment as though swallowing a bitter pill--"that as yet has failed to attract people of her own class."

Had Mrs. Toplady been a snob, here was another remark to form a bone of contention.

"I s'pose you think it's all my fault, then, sir?" she asked, watching the Professor delicately sipping his punch. "I told Miss Gay at Inigo Court it wasn't quite the thing for her, though I saw no reason why she shouldn't go in for it if she chose. Trotting's all right, take it from me, Master Frank--it's the sayings of a lot of outsiders who don't know their book" (the Professor blinked, and regarded his glass fixedly) "that gives it a bad name. Me and Bob's been at it a few years now, and we've done a goodish bit of horseracing in our time too, and always with the half-crown public, so to speak. But I give you my word, I'd sooner be among the Trotting lads than the proper racing crowd."

"Might I inquire why?" said the Professor.

"Well taken all round, they are a sight straighter than most of the mobs who go racing in silk hats and frock coats, and don't you forget it, Master Frank. I've had a good many things sneaked in a race-course crowd, but I've never had my bag snatched at Trotting, and never expect to. There's a freemasonry among them low people" (the Professor winced and changed his legs) "that won't let 'em interfere with you, even as a stranger on the track. There's bad hats among them, of course, but somehow the fact that a man's coming Trotting is a guarantee among 'em that he's all right, and unless he _arsks_ for it, he'll be let alone, even if dressed in bank-notes. They _may_ be all little men, butchers, fishmongers, and publicans--"

She sniffed audibly, and the Professor squirmed; nevertheless, things had begun to look more rosy to his view. That second glass of punch had produced an elation of feeling which he had been entirely without on his arrival, and now, as he put down his empty glass with elaborate precision, and squared his shoulders, there was decision in his tone, if a momentary loss of balance of his person as he said:

"I am firm in my resolve, nevertheless, to put a stop to my sister's utter disregard of the conventionalities."

His voice sounded unfamiliar in his own ears; he found extraordinary difficulty in separating the words that all ran into one another. Things would be easier, he thought, if only his listener would sit still, and not rock about in her chair so ridiculously.

"I don't see what you want to interfere for, Master Frank," said Min, checking a smile, "though for the matter of that, I don't s'pose Miss Gay attaches much importance to it. Haven't you ever thought how lonely her life is?" she broke out, remembering their talk at Inigo Court. "She hasn't got very much to amuse her, and--you'll excuse a bit of plain speaking--I'm afraid you're not much of a comfort to her. She don't complain, bless her plucky heart, but it ain't natural for a young girl like her to be cooped up in London with no companion of her own age--for Mrs. Bulteel is nearly ten years older, and 'most always with her husband, and Miss Lossie--well, she don't count. 'Twould be small blame to her if she took up with things--_and_ people--a deal worse than Trotting folks."

The Professor resumed an erect position. This view had never been brought home to him before; his own selfish life, absorbed in science to the exclusion of all else, so contented him, that never a thought had entered his mind about his duty to Gay. She seemed happy enough always, he reflected, and because she never asked for anything, he supposed she had nothing to ask for.

Min saw her advantage, and pursued it.

"It would serve you right if Miss Gay was to marry, and leave you to look after yourself," she said severely. "I'm sure it's not for want of chances. There's more than one, or two even, young gentlemen as is head over heels in love with her now, and either of them could give her more fun and sunshine than she ever had with you, Master Frank!"

Frank Lawless thought of the girlish glee of the telegram he received on the day of Silver Streak's victory, "Won my first race--Hooray!" and how he had not only failed to congratulate her, but lectured her at dinner. He looked so crushed and miserable that Min's kind heart relented; there were tears in his weak blue eyes, though whether induced by self-reproach, or born of the unaccustomed punch, Min was not prepared to say.

Now she crossed over to him, and laid a kind, motherly hand on his shoulder.

"Don't take on about it, Master Frank," she said; "perhaps I've rubbed it in a bit too strong. But if my advice is worth anything, you won't try to deprive the child of the bit of harmless fun her horses will give her, but thank your lucky stars that she's content to stay at home, and look after you, instead of gallivanting about all over the shop, like some folks, trying to get someone to marry them!"

She sniffed disgustedly, meaning Lossie, whom she suspected, and rightly, of setting Frank against Gay's new fancy.

"As for what people say, let 'em. Them as don't like it can lump it--don't you worry--or worry dear little Miss Gay."

The Professor felt a burning desire to lay his head down on Min's ample bosom, and weep bitterly; he had not expected to be tackled so vigorously, though he had known he would not have things all his own way.

"Buck up, Master Frank," Min encouraged him, "and have another drop of punch before you go home. Your heart's in the right place--at least it always was when I had the looking after the boys and Miss Gay, and you only want just telling what to do, which is to let well alone."

The Professor accepted the punch (in a smaller glass this time) and drained it at a gulp, though it was insidious stuff, he feared, and treacherous. Dreading further criticisms of himself, he seized his hat, and grasping Min's hand, worked it like a pump handle, then started for the door with a little run, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the pavement. Fortunately, whatever his head might be, his legs were of cast-iron, and he slipped nimbly enough into a hansom, just managing to jerk out his address to the cabby, before he fell fast asleep.

The stopping of the cab woke him, and hurriedly paying the man double his fare, he admitted himself with his latch-key, and proceeded on tiptoe to his study to finish his interrupted nap, taking the precaution to first lock the door. There was more of wily Brer Rabbit in the Professor's composition than most people supposed.