All that day it poured with rain. It was now the evening of the last performance of "Caledonia's Bard" at Ayr. What were Mr. Punter's arrangements for the morrow? So far he had given no clue. The weather added to the general depression; none ventured out into the downpour, but as twilight fell the figures of the actors and actresses, huddled under umbrellas, might be seen approaching the hall from various directions. The conjectures, the suggestions, the hopes, the fears discussed in the dressing-rooms were of far greater interest to the members of the company than was the play itself. The time they spent on the stage--far from appearing in the light of the most important moments of the evening--seemed but breaks into the far more serious and enthralling "Drama of Reality" in which all were taking part. It was now a generally known secret that Mr. Punter was unable to pay the nine pounds owing for the hire of the hall. Halfway through the evening it was further spread around--in mysterious murmurs and with bated breath--that the instant the curtain fell for the last time everyone must be prepared to look after themselves--their own interests--and, as far as possible, those of Mr. Punter. All were to promptly seize on their respective belongings for fear they might be claimed by the officials of the hall; the "fit-up" was to be rushed down--on the morrow all were returning to Glasgow, where more prosperous arrangements would be made for the future. But this programme of events, even if originating in Mr. Punter's brain, was not destined to enjoy his co-operation. Suddenly Joe startled the girls by dashing almost without warning into their dressing-room. "He's gone--he's off--the blaggard!" he shouted. "Who? Where?" "Why, that vile Punter. Somebody from the station has come and told Brown. Him and Mrs. Punter and the kids caught the five-to-ten to Glasgow. He was off with all the cash while we were finishing acting his rotten play! He's given us the slip, left us in the lurch without our salary! Got clean away with all the rest of the takings, such as they are!" Both the girls gasped, and Evarne, homeless, friendless, with exactly five-and-twopence in the world, turned pale. A moment later, a sudden uproar on the stage caused them to both rush out excitedly. There, surrounded by irate actors and stage-hands, stood--or rather huddled together--Pat and Billie Punter. "We've got them, anyway!" shouted Brown. "They'll have to pay something for their pa!" Before any further threats could be either uttered or put into action, two men appeared in the entrance, closing dripping umbrellas, and with countenances as lowering as the weather without. They were the respective owners of the Drill Hall and of the hired piano. The latter strode straight up the gangway to the Punters.