By the twenty-fifth round, the Bruiser began to grow "groggy," and to hit at random. Of course this was mere pretence on his part: but it gave the Pet renewed courage; and in proportion as the latter acquired confidence, the former seemed to lose ground rapidly.
Many of the backers of the Bruiser now exhibited elongating countenances; and, when that champion was thrown heavily at the thirty-first round, his former supporters manifested a desperate inclination to "hedge." Egerton, however, remained confident in favour of the Bruiser; but then he knew nothing about prize-fighting—it was the first combat of the kind he had ever seen in his life—and, even if he had been inclined to hedge his bets, he would have found no persons willing at this stage of the proceeding to afford him the chance.
The Bruiser played his game so well, that even the most experienced in the pugilistic science were unable to detect the fraud that was being practised upon them; and thousands were deceived into a belief that he was really doing his best to win.
At the fortieth round he fell, apparently through sheer weakness; and it was highly ludicrous to behold the discomfited looks of those who had bet most heavily upon him.
He stood up for three rounds more; but time was called in vain for the forty-fourth—and the Haggerstone Pet was declared to be the conqueror.
The Bruiser seemed to be in a horrible plight: for some time he remained motionless upon the ground, obstinately resisting all the efforts that were made to recover him, until one of his friends thrust a huge pinch of snuff up his nose—and then he was compelled to sneeze.
He was now borne to the Green Lion at Wigginton, and put to bed. A surgeon in Sir Rupert Harborough's pay volunteered his services to attend upon him; and, although the Bruiser had nothing more serious the matter with him than a few bruises and a couple of black eyes, the medical gentlemen assured the multitudes who flocked to the inn, that "the poor fellow could not possibly be worse." A great deal of medicine was also purchased at the village apothecary's shop; but it was all quietly thrown away by the surgeon, and the Bruiser was regaled, in the privacy of his chamber, with a good cut off a sirloin of beef and a bottle of Port-wine.
Lord Dunstable, Mr. Chichester, Colonel Cholmondeley, and Sir Rupert Harborough divided equally amongst themselves the money won by this "cross;"—they sacked a thousand pounds each, Egerton alone having lost fifteen hundred upon the fight.
The five friends returned to town in his lordship's four-in-hand, and dined that evening at Limmer's, where Egerton speedily drowned the recollection of his heavy losses in bumpers of champagne and claret.
The party afterwards repaired to Crockford's; but just as they were ascending the steps, they beheld one of the waiters in altercation with a person of emaciated form, haggard countenance, and shabby attire, but who had evidently seen better—far better days; for his language was correct, and even beneath his rags there was an air of gentility which no tatters could conceal—no penury altogether subdue.