"Come, come," he said in his most cheerful professional tone. "This is no way to get well. If you want to be out to-morrow, you must be quiet." And he motioned us away. "It’s all going to smash--I can hear it going," sobbed Kendrick, "and I can’t remember what to do." He lay looking anxiously from side to side and repeated over and over, "I can’t remember what to do." As Doctor Roberts motioned us away again, I took him aside. "Is there any chance of his getting down to business to-morrow?" "Not the slightest. And he must not be excited by talking of it." "I think I can ease his mind somewhat," I said. An idea had been slowly forming in my brain, and now it sprang forth complete. I sat down by him and took his hand to help his wandering attention. "I’ll look out for the business," I said. "I’ll see Mr. Coleman to-night. We’ll get the syndicate together, and protect the markets to-morrow." "That’s it--the syndicate--that’s it," he cried with a visible relief. "That’s what I was trying to think of--the syndicate. Coleman will know; Partridge will know." I called for paper, pens and ink, and wrote out in duplicate a formal authorization by which Wharton Kendrick gave Arthur Hampden, his attorney, the power to act for him in all his business affairs. In the meantime I had despatched one of my men to summon a notary who lived down by Polk Street. The official was at home, up, and dressed, and he hurried to the Kendrick house, hot on the scent of the liberal fee that the name called up before his imagination. When he had come, I read aloud the power of attorney I had drawn. "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."