.

"And yu're a rint collector--a bhoy loike you! Think ov that now.
Willyum, yu're mother ought to be proud ov yez. Sure an' oi'll pay the
rint: oi'd clane forgotten this was the day, but oi've some money by
me, bhoy, an' yez can have it." She escorted him to the door after the
rent had been paid over, patting him on the head, calling him a hero,
and telling him that "the rint wud always be rady for the loikes ov
him." And at the door, in the open light of day, she flung her arms
around his neck. "God bless yez, ye darlint," she said, and kissed him
warmly. William blushed all over, but went on his way rejoicing.
Whimple had told him that the other two tenants were always on time,
and this day William found it to be so.

It was nearly six o'clock when he started back to the office, one hand
holding the rents thrust deep into a pocket. Whimple, who had been
growing anxious at the boy's long absence, and had been blaming himself
for asking him to do the work, met him half-way to the office. "I was
a little bit worried," he said simply; "I'm afraid I made a mistake
putting so much responsibility on you, William."

But when, in the inner room of the office, William laid down the money
he had collected with the laconic statement, "It's kinder slow work,"
Whimple's misgivings fled.

"Bully for you, William," he said enthusiastically. "You're a winner.
There's a new day dawning for me--and for you. I have had two new
clients in to-day. You've brought me luck, boy."

And William grinned delightedly.

CHAPTER VII

For a week before the first appearance in vaudeville of "Flo Dearmore,"
Tommy Watson's behaviour alarmed his friends. He ate little; it was
plain to those who met him daily that he slept little, and William
Adolphus Turnpike confided to Whimple that Tommy was "shaping up for
the asylum." "He don't know what he's sayin' half the time, and the
other half he ain't sayin' anything, he's just singing Scotch songs,
and Tommy's singing ain't much diff'rent to the hootin' of a factory
whistle," he said earnestly.

"You sing some old country songs pretty well yourself, William."

"Pa says so, and so does Ma, but----" he paused.

"Well?"

"Well--I ain't laying out to be no singer. Tommy took me to one of
them singing factories one day, and the feller what heard me says,
'Well,' he says, 'he has a sweet enough voice, but that's about all for
him.'"

"That was encouraging though."

"But I ain