The young prize-fighter looked a trifle embarrassed. "There ain't no call for that, sir—thankin' ye kindly all the saime, sir. I'd knock out 'alf a dozen blokes like Lopez for a purse o' three 'undred."
"Your unmercenary nature is one of your chief charms, Bugg," said Tony. "All the same you mustn't carry it to extremes. How much money have you got in the bank now?"
Bugg scratched his ear. "The last time I goes in, sir, the old geezer with the whiskers says somethin' abaht a matter of eleven 'undred quid."
"Well, by to-morrow you ought to have fifteen hundred. In other words, Bugg, you will be a capitalist—one of the idle rich. That money, properly invested, will bring you in thirty shillings a week. If you want to set up as an independent gentleman now's the time to begin."
A sudden look of surprised dismay spread itself across Bugg's square-jawed face.
"Meanin' I got the chuck, sir?" he inquired dully.
Tony laughed. "Of course not," he said. "Don't be an ass, Bugg. I was only pointing out to you that if you like to set up on your own you can afford to do it. I'll go on backing you as long as you want me to, but you needn't feel bound to stop on here if you'd rather clear out. It's not much of a job for a budding champion of England with fifteen hundred pounds in the bank."
Bugg gave an audible sigh of relief.
"I thought you was 'andin' me the bird, sir," he observed. "Give me a proper turn it did, jest for the minit."
"Then you don't want to go?"