Almost immediately Tony became the centre of a number of friends and acquaintances who were wringing his hand and congratulating him on the victory. After a minute or two he managed to free himself, and pushing his way through to the ringside, inquired anxiously after the health of the unfortunate Lopez. "Doggy" Donaldson, who was amongst the crowd surrounding that fallen warrior, bent down with an air of considerable relief upon his honest countenance.
"It's all right," he said, "the beggar's coming round. I really thought for a moment he was a goner though. Gad, what a kick that boy of yours has got!"
"Well, I'm glad it's no worse," said Tony.
The other nodded. "Yes," he observed, "we must all be thankful for that. It would have been a rotten thing for the Club if he'd broken his neck."
He turned away, and following suit, Tony suddenly found himself face to face with the Marquis da Freitas, and his royal master, who had apparently stepped forward in order to learn the news. The Marquis appeared as suave as ever, but anything more sulky looking than His Majesty it would have been difficult to imagine.
Da Freitas bowed with the faintest ironical exaggeration. "Permit me to congratulate you, Sir Antony. Your victory is indeed crushing."
Tony regarded him with his usual amiable smile. "Thanks," he said. "I am awfully glad your man isn't seriously hurt. It was bad luck his running into a punch like that." He turned to Pedro. "You can have a return match you know any time, if you care about it."
His Majesty scowled. "I will see him dead before I back him again," he observed bitterly.
The Marquis da Freitas showed his white teeth in a polite smile. "I fear you are rather too strong for us in the boxing-ring, Sir Antony. Perhaps some day we may find a more favourable battle-ground."
"I hope so," said Tony. "I rather like having a shade of odds against me. It's so much more interesting."