Already a boat had been lowered and was putting in for land.  Billy waded out to the end of the short shelving beach and waited.

The sight that met the eyes of the rescuers was one that filled them with awe, for they saw before them a huge, giant of a white man, half-naked except for a few tattered rags, who wore the long sword of an ancient samurai at his side, a modern revolver at his hip, and bore in his brawny hand the heavy war spear of a head-hunter.  Long black hair, and a huge beard covered the man’s head and face, but clean gray eyes shone from out of the tangle, and a broad grin welcomed them.

“Oh, you white men!” shouted the mucker.  “You certainly do look good to me.”

Six months later a big, smooth-faced giant in ill-fitting sea togs strolled up Sixth Avenue.  It was Billy Byrne—­broke, but happy; Grand Avenue was less than a thousand miles away!

“Gee!” he murmured; “but it’s good to be home again!”

There were places in New York where Billy would find acquaintances.  One in particular he recalled—­a little, third-floor gymnasium not far distant from the Battery.  Thither he turned his steps now.  As he entered the stuffy room in which two big fellows, stripped to the waist, were sparring, a stout, low-browed man sitting in a back-tilted chair against one wall looked up inquiringly.  Billy crossed over to him, with outstretched hand.

“Howdy, Professor!” he said.

“Yeh got me, kid,” replied Professor Cassidy, taking the proffered hand.

“I was up here with Larry Hilmore and the Goose Island Kid a year or so ago—­my name’s Byrne,” exclaimed Billy.

“Sure,” said the professor; “I gotcha now.  You’re de guy ‘at Larry was a tellin’ me about.  He said you’d be a great heavy if you’d leave de booze alone.”

Billy smiled and nodded.

“You don’t look much like a booze fighter now,” remarked Cassidy.

“And I ain’t” said the mucker.  “I’ve been on the wagon for most a year, and I’m never comin’ down.”

“That’s right, kid,” said the professor; “but wots the good word?  Wot you doin’ in little ol’ Noo York?”

“Lookin’ for a job,” said Billy.

“Strip!” commanded Professor Cassidy.  “I’m lookin’ for sparrin’ partners for a gink dat’s goin’ to clean up de Big Smoke—­if he’ll ever come back an’ scrap.”

“You’re on,” said Billy, commencing to divest himself of his outer clothing.

Stripped to the waist he displayed as wondrous a set of muscles as even Professor Cassidy had ever seen.  The man waxed enthusiastic over them.

“You sure ought to have some wallop up your sleeve,” he said, admiringly.  He then introduced Billy to the Harlem Hurricane, and Battling Dago Pete.  “Pete’s de guy I was tellin’ you about,” explained Professor Cassidy.  “He’s got such a wallop dat I can’t keep no sparrin’ partners for him.  The Hurricane here’s de only bloke wit de guts to stay wit him—­ he’s a fiend for punishment, Hurricane is; he jest natchrly eats it.