Sir Hilton's Sin

“Never you mind. What was that you were scuffling into your jacket pocket? Worms for fishing?”

“Of course.”

“Was it? I know better. I heered the paper crackle; it’s another letter for her.”

“What!” cried the boy, changing colour. “What her?”

“Her as you write to. I saw you scribbling, and watched you sneak off down to the village to post it.”

“You’re a wicked fibster, Jenny.”

“Oh, no, I’m not. What did you give the postman five shillings for?”

“I didn’t,” said the boy, flaring up.

“Yes, you did, and it was to bring letters for you on the sly, I shall write and inform the post-office people.”

“Yes, you do, and I’ll half kill you, and poison old Mark.”

“There! I knew it. Who is she?”

“You be off.”

“No, nor I shan’t be off neither. I believe it’s Dan Smart’s girl, who’s gone to London. Oh, my! what a wicked one you are, Master Syd, for such a boy. Your sangwidges is ready. Shall I bring ’em here?”

“Did you get the flask?”

“Yes.”

“And filled it with milk and sherry?”

“Yes, but you don’t deserve it, for threatening to get poor Mark the sack.”

“Then you shouldn’t threaten to tell tales.”

“I won’t, Master Syd, if you won’t.”

“All right, then, it’s a truce. Here, I must be off.”

“What, without your sangwidges and flask?”

“No; to get my fishing-rod.”

“Then you won’t tell?”

“Tell? No. Here, give us a kiss, Jenny.”

“Shan’t. They’re all for Mark.”

“Must,” cried the boy, seizing her round the waist.

“Pst! Someone coming.”

Syd dashed out of the window, and the girl began to move some of the breakfast things, but was interrupted by the entrance of a sharp-looking young groom with very closely-cut hair, and trousers so tight in the leg that the wonder was how he put them on and pulled them off.

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mark?” said the girl, tartly.

“Me it is, Jenny. Think it was the boss?”

“Maybe. Here’s a pretty time of the morning to have breakfast things about.”

“Pretty time? Of course, it’s a pretty time. Eat when you’re hungry. When the guv’nor wants his corn he’ll come down to the sally-manger as they call it.”

“But look at the time!”

“Oh, hang the time! A man ain’t a locomotive, made to live up to a time-table. I believe her ladyship has a time for everything, down to sneezing and cleaning her teeth. It’s orful, that it is.”

“Ah! you’re a pretty pair.”

“We was in the old days, Jenny,” said the young man, with a smirk, “before we began to go off and look seedy, him with being married to her ladyship, and me pulled down, fretting about you.”

“Get along with your nonsense! I know. You were a pair of regular rackety rakes, and her ladyship has done wonders for Sir Hilton.”

“Well, ain’t you done wonders and improved me, dear? You know I ain’t like the same chap.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I sometimes feel I’m very stupid to think about you. You’re always talking about your old ramping, scamping days.”

“But there wasn’t any harm in ’em, Jenny. Only a bit of sport – a race here, a steeplechase there, and a turn at hunting in the winter. Ah! they was times, Jenny, my gal Reglar old English gentleman sort of life. Go to bed when you liked; get up when you liked. Breakfast in bed or out of it. None of your tea-and-toasting, but a hock and seltzer for a start; nice little devilled something after, and there you were, fit as a fiddle. None of your time-table life, like it is here.”

“Yes, you were a nice pair.”

“We were, Jenny, and we’re not to be sneezed at now; but you’re a bit hard on us, Jenny, both of you.”

“I’m too soft on you, Mark, and you know it.”

“Well – say sometimes, my dear; but you know you are orful nubbly now and then, and you say things to me that buzz in my ears like bluebottles in a stable window. I don’t grumble, but I’m sorry for the guv’nor, that I am.”

“Ah! he has a deal to grumble at. Wasted as good as three fortunes.”

“Woho, my lass! Steady there! Not wasted. Spent ’em like a noble English baronet, and he always had his money’s worth. Yes, we did.”

“We indeed! Wasted everything, he did, on the Turf, and then was sold up disgraceful. Just like a pore man might be.”

“Gently, my lass, gently!” cried Mark. “Sold up, and disgraceful? Nothing of the kind. The luck was again’ us, and we can’t quite meet our engagements; so we lets the things come to the hammer. Old Tat knocks ’em down to the highest bidder at High Park Corner, and we pays like gentlemen as far as the money goes. What more would you have till the luck turns and we pay up again?”

“Ah! you’re a nice pair. It was time you were both off the Turf. Neither of you ever cared.”

“Don’t say that, my lass. I cared a deal, and when I see my satin-skinned beauties knocked down – ”