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 stood on the rear platform of the train, the roses in one hand, the other waving farewell until the train disappeared, the while the band played on.
Then his friends slowly left the station, Lucien walking with Tommy Watson. "Roses for William," said Lucien, "and from a young lady!"