Close in she came, for the sea was calm and the water deep, and when Billy was sure that those on board saw him and his frantic waving, he hurried, stumbling and falling, down the steep face of the cliff to the tiny beach at its foot.
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.