By this time Patrolman Lasky had staggered to his feet,
and most opportunely at that, for the man whom Billy had
dazed with the club was recovering. Lasky promptly put
him to sleep with the butt of the gun that he had been unable
to draw when first attacked, then he turned to assist Billy.
But it was not Billy who needed assistance--it was the
gentleman from Bohemia. With difficulty Lasky dragged
Billy from his prey.
"Leave enough of him for the inquest," pleaded Lasky.
When the wagon arrived Billy had disappeared, but
Lasky had recognized him and thereafter the two had nodded
pleasantly to each other upon such occasions as they chanced
to meet upon the street.
Two years elapsed before the event transpired which proved
a crisis in Billy's life. During this period his existence had
been much the same as before. He had collected what was
coming to him from careless and less muscular citizens. He
had helped to stick up a half-dozen saloons. He had robbed
the night men in two elevated stations, and for a while had
been upon the pay-roll of a certain union and done strong
arm work in all parts of the city for twenty-five dollars a
week.
By day he was a general utility man about Larry Hilmore's
boxing academy, and time and time again Hilmore
urged him to quit drinking and live straight, for he saw
in the young giant the makings of a great heavy-weight;
but Billy couldn't leave the booze alone, and so the best that
he got was an occasional five spot for appearing in preliminary
bouts with third- and fourth-rate heavies and has-beens; but
during the three years that he had hung about Hilmore's he had
acquired an enviable knowledge of the manly art of self-defense.
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