ically, "but
perhaps----" and then he looked around sharply as the music of a brass
band echoed along the vaulted roof of the station. And what think you
the band was playing? "Will ye no come back again." Yes, and playing
it well, too. As the band came into view from one of the arched
crossings, the faces of the group around William lit up with smiles,
for, marching proudly in front, and carrying an enormous bunch of
roses, was Tommy Watson, his head erect, his shoulders well back, his
face aglow. To his signal the band aligned in front of the little
group, and broke into a new tune, a lilting march, written around a
then popular song, now almost forgotten, "Bill, our Bill." Perhaps
there are some who still remember the chorus:--

"Bill, our Bill, see him smile,
On fair days and dull days,
Oh, it's well worth while,
To watch him at work,
To see him at his play;
Bill, our Bill; see him smile."

After they had played the chorus several times, the bandsmen sang it,
William's friends joining in.

"Rotten verse," said Lucien Torrance, when they were through, "but it
fits you, William Adolphus Turnpike--our Bill."

"Where did you get the band, Tommy?" asked Epstein.

"Minstrel show; arrived in Toronto before daylight for a week's
engagement," retorted Tommy, proudly, and in curt sentences; "know the
leader; copped him at breakfast; arranged terms in five minutes; great
send-off to the coming world-famous comedian. Sorry couldn't bring
Tommy junior down; sleeping; would have enjoyed it."

Then to William he handed the roses. "Boy," he said gravely, and with
a touch of tenderness in his tone, "a lady, a young lady, gave me these
with this message, 'Please tell Mr. Turnpike I wish him success.'"

Some say William blushed. William still stoutly denies it; but he
could not speak for a moment. His heart was beating wildly; his hands
trembled as he took the roses and held them a second or two to his
face. He looked up again, self-possessed and quiet. "Thank you,
Tommy," he said, simply.

"Is there a----" began Lucien, eagerly.

William broke in gently, "Don't, Lucien," he said, "my career is
first--yet. I dare not hope--what sometimes I have dared to hope.
I----"

"All aboard!" The hoarse cry of the train despatcher rolled out the
words, and the clanging of the station bell followed. As the train
began to slowly draw out of the station the band again struck up "Bill,
our Bill." William