"A packed house," I murmur to him. "Seven nights in a row, now. That's even better than the old days."

He nods proudly. He's never been one to talk, but I know he's as happy as I am.

"You were a godsend," I tell him. "Do you realize that? Our popularity had just about played out when you showed up. I was bitter, I admit it. It seemed like the public just wasn't interested in quality entertainment anymore. But I see now that it was just that our routine hadn't changed. We hadn't added any new blood in far too long. Then that weird portal popped open and you fell through, and we were on our way back to standing room only."

"Well," I admit, "after we stopped trying to kill you, anyway. Sorry about that. We were just scared. We'd never seen anyone like you before."

He shrugs and smiles his forgiveness. He understands.

"No one's ever seen anyone like you before," I go on, "anyone as good as you." I'm not usually one to overdo the praise, but he deserves it. He's better at this than I ever was. He's so good that I don't even feel bad about admitting that. It's just a privilege to be here, to be able to see him go on every night. I lean over to tell him that, but a voice from behind us interrupts me.

"Mr. Flatley? The orchestra says they're ready now."

On cue, the beautiful Gaelic music floats out over the audience. I watch as they all smile and clap in anticipation, and I feel tears in my eyes. Have I ever been this happy before?

I clap my prodigy, my savior, my friend on the shoulder. I feel him tense in his eagerness to perform.

"Numfar!" I cry. "Do the Dance of River!"