“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.