"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.