Part 17

"That's it, Hampden; you won't see me go down, will you?" said my client in a pleading voice. And with some difficulty he attached his signature, and Doctor Roberts and Mercy Fillmore signed as witnesses, while the notary affixed his official acknowledgment.

Armed with this evidence of power, I started for my hat, when Miss Kendrick stopped me.

"You aren't going out in that fix, are you?" she demanded. And at her gesture I remembered my torn and one-sleeved coat, and the chiaroscuro of soil and grass stains with which I had been decorated.

"I was thinking that I should be all right if I got a hat, but I'm afraid it will take more than that to fit me out," I said ruefully. "Come to think of it, my hat is out on the lawn with the other sleeve of my coat. There's quite a collection of second-hand clothing out there, but it's rather dark to find one's own."

"Men are so fussy about their hats," said Miss Laura, "but I'll have the collection brought in from the lawn, and maybe you can make yours do for to-night. As for the coat, I'll bring down one of uncle's that's too small for him, and you won't look so very ridiculous, after all."

My headgear, when recovered, bore evidence that it had been worn on a militant heel; but when I had brought the torn edges together, I flattered myself that in the darkness it would look almost as good as new. And although the coat hung loosely upon me, and the stains of battle refused to yield to the brush, I was consoled by the thought that these departures from the rules of polite dress would add corroborative details and a livelier interest to my tale of Wharton Kendrick's undoing.

"Now, leave that bandage alone," commanded Miss Laura, as I raised my hand to complete my toilet by removing that badge of battle. "You have to wear it. And you have no idea how becoming it looks."

I submitted ruefully to this edict of petticoat tyranny, and Miss Kendrick rewarded me by escorting me to the door. She gave me her hand, and there was a look in her eyes that was near to carrying me off my feet as she said with the suspicion of a tremble in her voice:

"I hope you don't think we are not appreciating what you have done--and are doing."

"It is nothing," I said, looking into the magnetic depths of her eyes, until she dropped her glance to the floor, and blushed divinely.

"It is nothing," I repeated. Then bending, I touched my lips to her hand, and with no other word ran down the steps in a tumult of elation.

The Coleman house was alight as I rang the bell, and William T. Coleman himself appeared close on the heels of the suspicious servant who took in my card. He was able to recall the circumstances of our introduction as he gave me a cordial greeting and shook me warmly by the hand.

"I was in hopes Kendrick would come himself," he said; "but as he hasn't, I am glad he sent you."

"Mr. Kendrick didn't come because he couldn't come. He was badly hurt in to-night's riot."

"Kendrick hurt? How badly?"

I described the extent of his injuries as well as I could, and Coleman's eyes took on a troubled look.

"I wanted to consult him about affairs. A number of our leading men have been here this evening, and General McComb has agreed to issue a call for a citizens' meeting at the Chamber of Commerce to-morrow afternoon. We must devise some way to assist the authorities, and I looked to Kendrick to take a leading part."

"It will be some days before he can be out. But he is very anxious about the state of business. He is afraid there will be a smash in the markets to-morrow."

William T. Coleman smiled, and the calm sense of power that shone in his eyes gave me renewed courage.

"Kendrick was always one of the men who think that nothing will be done if they don't attend to it themselves," he said with good-natured raillery.

"Well, it's usually true, isn't it? Most things don't get done."

"A very just observation, Mr. Hampden. Most things don't get done. The man who has the brains and will to accomplish things is the invaluable man. It's our main trouble in every branch of the world's work--to find the man with ideas and the force to carry them out. But we must show Kendrick that he isn't indispensable in this crisis. Did he explain to you the state of affairs?"

"No. He could only refer me to you for details. He gave me the authorization to represent him in the syndicate, and in his business generally. It was all he was able to do."

"Well, the syndicate brought together a capital of ten million--I suppose you know that."

"Yes, but I believe it was heavily drawn on in the raid of last month."

"We had to put out close to three million six hundred thousand of loans that day, but some of it has come back since."

"Then the syndicate must have between six and seven million at its disposal."

"Over seven, I think. Kendrick could give you the figures out of his head--that is, before his head was broken--but I'll have to get them from my memoranda."

"How long do you expect that to last in a storm?"

"It ought to see us through any crisis that can arise."

"But this is a more serious occasion than the other. See our riots, and the explosion of violence in the East. Will not these frighten our business men far more than the rumors that set off the hub-bub of last month?"

Coleman leaned back in his chair, his face expressing confident cheerfulness, and his eyes magnetic with power.

"Very true," he said. "But on the other hand, the flurry of last month shook out the weaklings. Stocks and bonds are shifted into strong hands. Doubtful accounts have been closed out. We are in much better shape than before the squall struck us."

"I'm glad to hear it," I said with some relief, though the thought of Peter Bolton's malign activities weighed on my mind, and I was tempted to confide in William T. Coleman. But as Wharton Kendrick had kept the matter to himself, I followed his example, and continued: "I believe the interests of Mr. Kendrick can best be served by sustaining the markets and preventing failures. But as to details, I should like your advice."

"Well, I will read you the memorandum made at our meeting of the other night of the men and firms who are likely to need help, and the amounts it would probably be safe to lend them." And Mr. Coleman brought a sheet of paper from his desk and interpreted the cabalistic signs that covered it. The freedom with which the names of banks, business houses and individuals had been handled would have created a sensation if the paper had been published. "And here is a list of the men who have had advances," he said, taking out another sheet and reading off names and figures.

I noted down the list for reference and study.

"Do you think," asked Coleman, "that Kendrick will be able to get down to-morrow?"

"No, the doctor said it would be impossible."

"That is very awkward. The syndicate's money is deposited in his name, and he is the man to sign our checks."

I saw the advantage of keeping this power in Wharton Kendrick's hands, and suggested:

"Possibly he can attend to that part of the business at the house. I can have a line of messengers to carry the checks back and forth."

Coleman wrinkled his brows, and gave his head a forceful shake.

"That won't do. The arrangement would lose us forty minutes on every transaction. You had better get Kendrick to make out a check for the whole amount in favor of Nelson, and Nelson will look out for the details."

I was far from satisfied that this was the best way out of the difficulty. It eliminated Wharton Kendrick as a factor in the operations of the syndicate, and I had a vague but controlling feeling that this would fit badly with his plans. But I could give no sound reason for dissent from the suggestion, and at last Coleman said:

"Go to Kendrick, and ask him for the check. I'll have Nelson and Partridge here by the time you get back, and we can talk the business over more fully."

The Kendrick house was bright with lights as I reached it, and I was more annoyed than pleased to find Mr. Baldwin busily assisting Miss Kendrick, and directing the servants in the work of clearing up the broken glass and securing the open windows with boards.

Mr. Baldwin recognized me in his most superior way, and assumed his most magnificent airs of proprietorship from the top of the ladder, as he waved a hammer as his baton of command.

"Ah, Hampden," he said with a cool nod, "this is a fine mess your friends have made of things."

"Gracious, me!" exclaimed Miss Kendrick. "Is that the way friends act? I've seen men play some pretty rough pranks in the name of friendship, but I'm sure I never knew them to go so far as they did with Mr. Hampden. It's a mercy he wasn't killed. You should have seen him when he came in from the fracas!"

Mr. Baldwin appeared to be put out of countenance by this railing acknowledgment of my share in the defense of the house, and I judged by his tone that he considered it a reflection on him for being absent in the crisis.

"I had been out of town," he said stiffly, apparently for my enlightenment, "and got in on the eight o'clock boat. Later I heard that your friends were on the war-path, and threatening to burn Nob Hill and Van Ness Avenue. Then I came up here to see if I could be of service, and found that it was all over--except the repairs." And with this attempt to set himself right, he resumed his air of importance.

"Well, it's very lucky you weren't here," said Miss Kendrick. "I don't doubt you would have got your head broken, and you'd never be able to stand up on that ladder if it was going around the way Mr. Hampden's is. Oh," she cried suddenly, "what have you done with that bandage I put over your bump?"

"It came off," I said weakly, bringing the damp and offending rag out of my pocket.

"I believe you took it off," she said with an air of reprimand.

"You can put it on again," I pleaded with meek submission.

"No--it can stay off," she said. "You're getting on entirely too well to be fussed over any more. And now if you'll go in and see uncle, I'll be obliged. He has been dozing, but he comes to with a start every few minutes and asks for you. I'm hoping you can quiet his mind, for his worry isn't at all good for him." And her voice quivered with a pathetic note of affectionate anxiety.

Wharton Kendrick lay on the couch with his eyes closed, but opened them vacantly as I came in. Mercy Fillmore sat by his side. He collected himself with an effort, and said:

"I've been wanting you, Hampden! What was it you were to see about? Some business, wasn't it?" His eyes wandered, as though he were seeking for some lost thread of memory.

I gave him a condensed account of my visit to William T. Coleman. He heard me listlessly until I came to the request to make out a check for the syndicate's balance in favor of Nelson. Then he started violently, and half raised himself.

"I'll see 'em damned first!" he cried. "How can I protect myself if the money is turned over to Nelson?" He looked about wildly, fiercely; then sank back and closed his eyes.

Mercy Fillmore shook her head at me, and her eyes expressed reproach.

"You are exciting him," she whispered. "Isn't this business something that can be put off?"

He heard her and answered:

"No, it can't be put off. There'll be a smash in the market in the morning, and I shan't be there to stop it!" He had begun with energy, but his voice trailed off into a querulous tone as he added: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" Then suddenly a look of resolution came into his face. "Bring me my check-book," he cried with feverish impatience. "There's one in that coat pocket. Be quick about it!"

The book was produced, and after looking at it helplessly for a little he handed it back to me. Then he seemed to collect his faculties and asked:

"What was the balance? Why can't I remember?"

I read the figures from the memorandum Mr. Coleman had given me.

"Seven million three hundred and twenty thousand," he repeated. "Well, make out a check to yourself for that amount. Now help me up while I sign it. What are you waiting for? Give me that pen."

I was somewhat dashed by the responsibility that was being thrust upon me, but I could think of no better course. So we propped him to a sitting posture, and he signed his name somewhat unsteadily to the check.

"Now take it, Hampden," he said. "You won't see me go down, will you? Look out for my interests. They're yours, Hampden. Stand by me this time, and I'll stand by you always." His voice trailed off into indistinctness as we laid him back on the pillow, and after a struggle to speak, his face flushed a startling red, he mumbled a few incoherent sounds, and was lost to his surroundings.

Mercy Fillmore uttered a cry at this sudden change.

"Oh, I wish Doctor Roberts was back!"

"Here is Doctor Roberts," said the quiet professional voice, as the physician entered the room and stepped to his patient's side. "No more business to-night," he continued sharply. "I am afraid there will be no more for many days. I must ask you to retire, Mr. Hampden; the atmosphere is too exciting for Mr. Kendrick."

I denied myself the pleasure of interrupting Mr. Baldwin's conversation, as I went out, and hastened to the Coleman house.

Partridge and Nelson had already arrived, and I found them earnestly discussing the situation with Mr. Coleman. They greeted me with condescension, inquired civilly of the condition of Wharton Kendrick, and warmly expressed their indignation against the mob.

"Was Kendrick able to sign the check to Nelson?" asked Coleman, coming abruptly to the matter of business.

I explained, as diplomatically as I was able, the arrangement my client had made.

"Well, then," said Nelson, "it is very easily settled. All you have to do is to indorse the check over to me." And he looked at me with the self-satisfied air of the business man whose word is law to his employees.

The calm assumption that I was to be eliminated from the proceedings without so much as saying "by your leave," roused my combative instincts, and it was only by drawing a firm rein on my temper that I was able to reply calmly:

"I do not think I am justified by my instructions to take such a step."

"What do you propose to do, then?" asked Partridge shortly.

The tone in which the question was put added fire to my resentment, and I replied with emphasis:

"I shall be guided by the wishes of my client, and where he has not expressed a wish, I shall follow my own judgment."

Partridge and Nelson looked at each other.

"I think I shall go and see Kendrick," said Partridge.

"Mr. Kendrick is in a stupor, and the doctor would not permit him to be seen, even if he could be roused," I replied.

"This is very awkward," said Nelson, drumming on the table with his fingers.

"Not at all," said Coleman, in calm and tactful voice. "Mr. Hampden has the money that was intrusted to Kendrick. He has Kendrick's power of attorney. For all practical purposes he is Kendrick. He will sign the checks just as Kendrick would have signed them. Is not that your idea, Mr. Hampden?"

"You have stated exactly my understanding of my instructions, Mr. Coleman. I am ready to sign any checks that Mr. Kendrick would sign if he were here."

Partridge nodded his assent to this construction of my orders, but Nelson still looked sourly at me.

"What checks do you think he would sign?" asked Nelson.

"Why, in general, I should say that they would be any that are approved by you three gentlemen."

Nelson's face cleared and he stopped drumming on the table.

"That is satisfactory," he said. "Then we had better make our headquarters again in Mr. Kendrick's office. It is the most central location. We shall be there a little before ten o'clock."

"You had better see the bank about transferring the money to your account before the opening," said Partridge, as we rose to go. "When the fun begins, you'll have no time to waste."

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*THE COMMITTEE OF SAFETY*

I came out of the bank from my morning visit in a daze of emotions. The street was thronged with hurrying crowds. The air was electric with the tension of social storm. The echoes of the mob's outburst could be heard in the indignant comments that passed from mouth to mouth; the fears that it inspired could be read in the tense lines that it had written on men's faces. But it was all one to me. I saw and I saw not. I heard and I heard not. I walked the street stunned, overwhelmed with the conviction that an irreparable blunder had snatched the control of events from my hands, and doomed Wharton Kendrick to swift and certain ruin.

I had found the president of the Golconda Bank in his private office at a few minutes after nine o'clock, and Wharton Kendrick's card had secured me prompt admission. I had known the president slightly for several years, and he received me with brusk kindness as I stated my errand and exhibited my credentials.

"Oh, we'll arrange that for you in two minutes," he said, after he had examined my papers, and questioned me on Wharton Kendrick's condition. "Just indorse that check, and I'll have the account put in your name."

When he had sent his messenger to the cashier with his directions, he continued:

"That is a heavy responsibility you have on your shoulders to-day. There is plenty of trouble ahead. We look to the syndicate to do the work of a commercial fire-patrol." And he favored me with a few words of advice for which I professed myself grateful. He was still giving counsel, when the cashier reappeared with a troubled face.

"There's something wrong about this," he said, laying my check before the president.

"That is Kendrick's signature," said the president, scrutinizing it once more.

"But look at the figures," urged the cashier.

"Seven million three hundred and twenty thousand dollars?"

"Yes; but there is only six million eight hundred and twenty thousand in the special account on which this check is drawn."

The president drew his lips into a whistle, and then said:

"Well, we can't do anything with it, you see. You'll have to go back to Kendrick and get him to correct it."

If I had been as wise at the moment as I became by subsequent reflection I should have summoned all my powers of eloquence to convince him that the safety of the bank as a part of the commercial structure of the city lay in getting that fund promptly released for use in the coming crisis. The arguments with which I could have supported such a thesis came to me in abundance a day later. But at the moment I was stricken dumb and my wits were scattered by the thought that Wharton Kendrick had used for his own purposes a half-million dollars of the syndicate's money, and was to be dishonored before the world.

Before I could recover myself the president had bowed me out of his room, and I was mechanically guided by my subconscious self to Wharton Kendrick's office. In my bewilderment I came into collision with a man who stood by the door, and begged his pardon without getting an impression of his personality.

"Why, God bless my soul, Hampden! What's the matter with you? You run over a man without even the politeness to call out 'Hi there!' and then you look at him as though it was the first time you'd ever set eyes on him. Is this the day you pick out to send your wits a-wool-gathering? Where's Kendrick? I see by the papers there was a row up at his house last night, and he got a nasty knock on the head."

It was General Wilson, looking more fiery and self-important than ever.

"What's the matter?" he continued, slapping me jovially on the back. "Is Kendrick worse hurt than the papers say? You look as though the bank had broken."

I told the general of the assault on Kendrick and of his perilous condition, and the general puffed out his red cheeks, blew out his breath with a noise like a porpoise, and cursed the mob with a heartiness and good will that was inspiring.

"Put me in charge of this town for twenty-four hours, and I'd hang every mother's son of those agitators higher than Haman," said the general, when the ready stock of curses ran out. "That's the way to deal with 'em. But cheer up! Kendrick will be all right in a few days."

I felt an inward shrinking from telling General Wilson the rest of the woeful truth. But the truth would be the property of the street within an hour, and it could not be made worse by trusting it to even so garrulous a confidant as he. Perhaps I had a faint hope that the old campaigner might make a suggestion that would help me out of my difficulties; but the overmastering thought in my mind was that I held the position of a conductor of a runaway train that was plunging down a mountain grade to certain wreck, and it did not matter what I did or said. So taking the general into Wharton Kendrick's office, I told him my tale of the dishonored check.

He took it more calmly than I had expected. "How much did you say he's overdrawn?" he asked in businesslike tones.

"Five hundred thousand dollars."

"That was the deuce of a mistake for Kendrick to make. Can't you get him to correct it?"

I groaned out a miserable negative.

"I left there at half-past eight this morning," I returned, "and he hadn't come out of the stupor that I left him in last night."

General Wilson drew a prolonged whistle, and looked grave. Then he said:

"There's just one thing to do. Get some of Kendrick's friends to advance the half-million. Deposit it to his account. Then the bank will pay your check. Then you'll have the money, and can pay back the advance inside of one minute."

"Half a million is a big sum," I said doubtingly. "I don't know anybody who will put that up at short notice."

General Wilson threw himself back in his chair with an air of marvelous self-importance.

"Hang it, man!" he cried. "Why don't you ask me? You don't suppose that General Wilson would let his friend Kendrick go to the wall for want of a trifling favor like that, do you? I've a notion to be insulted at not being asked--hang me if I haven't!"

I grasped his hand, and expressed my opinion of his offer in dumb show. There was a painful task before me, however, and as it could not be postponed, I hastened to perform it.

"You're a trump, General Wilson, but I can't take up with your offer."

"Why not?"

"Because," I said slowly, "I can't pay back the five hundred thousand if you advance it."

"What do you mean?" demanded General Wilson in bewilderment.

"Well, I am afraid that the figures on the check are correct."

"Correct? How's that?"

"They are the figures of the balance of the syndicate's fund deposited in Wharton Kendrick's hands. They show the amount of money that ought to be in the bank--and it isn't there."

General Wilson drew another long whistle, and his face suddenly became grave again.

"Then he has used half a million of the syndicate's money?"

"I suppose so."

"What in the name of common sense did he do that for?" demanded the general irritably.

"I suppose he was sure he could make it up when the time came," I said in feeble defense.

"They always are," said the general grimly.

"Oh, I have no doubt he had everything calculated out to the last dollar," I returned. "The only thing he didn't calculate on was this knock on the head. If he was on his feet he would have the money in five minutes."

"Well, I suppose he would," said the general. "But he isn't on his feet, and what's the result?"

"The result is smash," said I with grim despair. "Partridge, Nelson and Coleman will be here inside of twenty minutes. When they set foot inside that door, Wharton Kendrick had better be dead."

General Wilson studied vacancy for a minute. Then he said slowly:

"You said you got a power of attorney out of Kendrick, didn't you?"

I handed him the paper I had drawn and Wharton Kendrick had signed.