Billy was more nearly happy again than he had been since the day he had renounced Barbara Harding to the man he thought she loved.  He read and re-read the accounts in the papers, and then searching for more references to himself off the sporting page he ran upon the very name that had been constantly in his thoughts for all these months—­Harding.

Persistent rumor has it that the engagement of the beautiful Miss Harding to Wm. J. Mallory has been broken.  Miss Harding could not be seen at her father’s home up to a late hour last night.  Mr. Mallory refused to discuss the matter, but would not deny the rumor.

There was more, but that was all that Billy Byrne read.  The paper dropped from his hand.  Battles and championships faded from his thoughts.  He sat with his eyes bent upon the floor, and his mind was thousands of miles away across the broad Pacific upon a little island in the midst of a turbulent stream.

And far uptown another sat with the same paper in her hand.  Barbara Harding was glancing through the sporting sheet in search of the scores of yesterday’s woman’s golf tournament.  And as she searched her eyes suddenly became riveted upon the picture of a giant man, and she forgot about tournaments and low scores.  Hastily she searched the heads and text until she came upon the name—­“‘Sailor’ Byrne!”

Yes!  It must be he.  Greedily she read and re-read all that had been written about him.  Yes, she, Barbara Harding, scion of an aristocratic house—­ultra-society girl, read and re-read the accounts of a brutal prize fight.

A half hour later a messenger boy found “Sailor” Byrne the center of an admiring throng in Professor Cassidy’s third-floor gymnasium.  With worshiping eyes taking in his new hero from head to foot the youth handed Byrne a note.

He stood staring at the heavy weight until he had perused it.

“Any answer?” he asked.

“No answer, kid,” replied Byrne, “that I can’t take myself,” and he tossed a dollar to the worshiping boy.

An hour later Billy Byrne was ascending the broad, white steps that led to the entrance of Anthony Harding’s New York house.  The servant who answered his ring eyed him suspiciously, for Billy Byrne still dressed like a teamster on holiday.  He had no card!

“Tell Miss Harding that Mr. Byrne has come,” he said.

The servant left him standing in the hallway, and started to ascend the great staircase, but halfway up he met Miss Harding coming down.

“Never mind, Smith,” she said.  “I am expecting Mr. Byrne,” and then seeing that the fellow had not seated her visitor she added, “He is a very dear friend.”  Smith faded quickly from the scene.

“Billy!” cried the girl, rushing toward him with out-stretched hands.  “O Billy, we thought you were dead.  How long have you been here?  Why haven’t you been to see me?”

Byrne hesitated.