“I’m sorry for Andy’s man if that is the case, as any king of a left will beat Hagin. Come to the dressing-room,” invited Donald.
A moment later Andy entered and sank dejectedly to a locker seat.
“You look rather blue, Andy,” observed Donald.
“I am. All ’ell’s a poppin’,” admitted Andy.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve lost me ’eavyweight. ’E’s quit.”
“Why?”
“Said I framed on ’im by sending you in this afternoon. Said I ’urt ’is pride.”
“Pride!” echoed Douglas sarcastically. “You’ve been treating him too well. I never thought much of him as a fighter. You’re too good a trainer to be wasting your time on third-raters.”
“Maybe you are right,” conceded Andy, “but look what a blinkin’ mess I’m in now! ’Ere I am in the ’ole three hundred bones for training expenses, and I’ve put up a forfeit with the promoters for appearance. I’ll lose the ’ole lot.” He threw out his arms with an air of resignation and sank back in his seat.