“Yes. I want to do something Mother can’t forget.... You don’t need any more fancy stunts, do you?” She said she did not, but that she was very tired and could stay no longer. “Oh, don’t go!” he begged. “I’ll go with you, but I like gassing this way.” Another characteristic phrase, she said. After some further assurances of his frequent presence and constant watchfulness, she said she really must go. Frederick then moved the pencil down to the right corner again, and wrote, very clearly and carefully, one more “upside-down” message—a touching little message of love to “dear Dad and the girls,” which he signed, “Your boy, Frederick.” The next day Mrs. Gaylord went home, where she immediately destroyed all her black-bordered cards and stationery and similar symbols of mourning. She wrote me that she felt it was false and wicked to mourn for a son as vitally alive and happy as she now knew Frederick to be. VI One of my letters to Mr. Kendal had been marked “Urgent.” On the day of Mrs. Gaylord’s departure a telegram came from him, asking that a duplicate of this letter be sent to him at Chicago. It developed later that all my missives, after some delay, had been forwarded from his club to his business address in the South, where, owing to the uncertainty of his plans, his secretary had held them, notifying him by wire of the one evidently demanding immediate attention. After some hesitation—reluctant to shock him by a bald and startling announcement unaccompanied by any explanation of a situation concerning which I was convinced he would be skeptical, if not wholly unsympathetic, and yet impelled by his wife’s distressed insistence to reach him before he should go South again—I telegraphed him that I had reason to believe I had been in direct communication for several days with Mary and others, and asked him to return _via_ New York, if possible. Early that evening I took up a pencil, which moved at once. “Manzie has your message.” This could be no one but Mary Kendal. To my inquiry concerning his reception of my telegram she replied: “He is startled. He is wiring you.” An expression of her happiness followed, concluding, “He is thinking of me ... and I can help him.” “Can’t you help him unless he is thinking of you?” Apparently this presented difficulties, but after long effort and many false starts she achieved what I felt to be only a part of the answer she had intended. “On power I can.” “You mean that you can influence his work? His strength, or accomplishment?” “Yes, but not his heart and soul.” After assurances that he would come soon, she thanked me touchingly. Later in the evening she said, “Manzie is so amazed!” When I asked whether he believed it, she returned: “He does now. He has thought....” Details personal to him followed.