The stage manager, alarmed and worried, was about to ring down the curtain when, from the balcony, a clear boyish voice took up the song. All eyes were turned in that direction. Flo Dearmore herself flung out her hands as though urging the people to listen and the orchestra to play on. Whimple started from his seat and then sat down again on Epstein's sharp "Leave him alone," and William, looking down on the stage, unconscious of anything but the vision of helpless loveliness there, sang in his sweet boyish voice:-- "The wild flowers spring, and the wee birdies sing, And in sunshine the waters are gleaming, But the broken heart, it kens nae second spring, Though the waeful may cease frae their greetin'." She joined him then in the refrain, both keeping perfect time:-- "Oh! you'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye, But me an' my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond." There followed a scene the like of which the Variety had never witnessed. For long minutes the applause and cheering echoed and re-echoed through the theatre. Everybody told everybody else what a clever act it was; but they had been "on to it" from the first. Scores of people confided to other scores that they had noticed the lad come into the theatre and take the seat reserved for him. They wondered how old he was; if he was "her brother," and between times they hoped that there would be a repeat. But as a "repeater" William would not have been a success. He was trembling and almost hysterical when he sat down, and Tommy Watson was in almost as bad a condition. Whimple was uneasy; Epstein only seemed to be cool. He passed the word along, and, as the curtain went up for the next act, the four friends quietly left their seats and walked down the stairs into the main entrance of the theatre. Here they were met by the manager, who seized Epstein by the arm. "Say, 'Chuck," he said excitedly, "that was a great stunt. How much will the kid take for the week?" Epstein smiled and turned to William. "I wouldn't do it again for a hundred dollars a night," said William pointedly, "and I don't know what I did it for anyway." "But, see here, my boy," said the manager, "there's big money in it for you--say----" William, however, was already at the door, and Whimple, not wholly understanding what lay behind Epstein's murmured, "Sorry--but I'll have to explain later," followed him. The manager was talking now to Tommy. "Flo Dearmore wants to see you, Mr. Watson," he said. "Do you know her?" Tommy nodded. "Come along then--you coming too, Epstein?" "No." The old comedian smiled affectionately on Tommy as the latter went off with the manager, and then walked away slowly, his lips moving as though he was communing with himself.