Front matter (continued 5)

I glanced at the mob, noted the signs that it was gathering courage for another attack, and was calculating on the risk of weakening our defense by ordering the men to carry Wharton Kendrick into the house, when I heard the door open behind me. There was a swift patter of footsteps on the walk, and Laura Kendrick flung herself on her knees beside me with a cry of grief and fear, and lifted her uncle's head in her arms.

"Oh," she cried with a choking voice, "have they killed him?"

"No," I replied, "he's alive. He will be all right in a little while." I hoped I was telling the truth. "We'll get him into the house, and have a doctor to look after him as soon as we can drive this mob away. Please go in now. You may be hurt yourself if you stay."

She had been wiping away the blood with her handkerchief, to the soft accompaniment of a crooning utterance, as though she were quieting a sick child.

"Indeed, I shall not go in till he does," she said. "Do you think I shall leave him out here to be killed by those dreadful creatures?"

"Please go," I said. "You can do nothing here, and the mob may begin firing at any minute."

At the apparition of the girlish figure the rioters had hushed something of their wrathful cries, but I felt none the less apprehensive of their next act.

As I spoke, with something of peremptoriness in my voice, Laura Kendrick started to her feet, but instead of returning to the house she walked hurriedly to the wall, and stood resolutely facing the crowd.

"Come back!" I cried with dismay, and restrained my impulse to rush before her with the thought that I should be much more likely to incite than to prevent an attack.

But instead of heeding my summons she began an indignant appeal to the men before her, trying to shame them at their errand. As her piquant voice rose on the air a terror gripped my throat at the thought of the response that her call might bring, but at her first words the crowd hushed to stillness, and I saw a man cuff a young hoodlum who uttered a catcall. The appeal of the slender figure facing the mob in the glare of the torches that had been brought to burn her house was a better protection for the moment than the revolvers of my men.

"Do you think it manly to strike at the sick or at women? Do you think it right to try to murder your friends? You have struck down a man who never had an unkind word for you--who has done more than all of you put together to keep the Chinese out of the country. Do you think that is the way to help your cause? I don't."

The mob preserved an admirable silence, and she turned to me and said in low, excited tones, "Carry him into the house while they are behaving themselves."

I had already given the order, and four of my men bore the stricken magnate up the steps and through the doors, while Laura spoke once more to the mob.

"I'm sure," she said, "you ought to see by this time that you've done enough harm to your cause for one day, and I hope you'll go quietly home before you do anything worse."

"Three cheers for the leddy!" came in strong Hibernian response, and the mover of the resolution led off with such a will that a hundred more voices joined in the tribute.

"Thank you," she replied, "and good night." And with a courtesy to the uninvited guests, she turned, crossed the garden, and mounted the steps with dainty grace. At the door she turned, gave another bow, and waved her hand in farewell, and then slipped through the open door as another cheer was raised.

I had followed her with the purpose of keeping between her and possible missiles and my misdirected solicitude was rewarded. As she put foot within the hall, she staggered and would have fallen had I not caught her. For an instant she clung to me with a convulsive gasp of fear. Then her grasp relaxed, her head sank back, and her full weight rested on my encircling arm. At the sight of her white face, and the crimson stains on her hands and dress that had come from her uncle's blood, I gave a cry of alarm, and lifted her limp form as carefully as one takes up a sleeping child.

For a minute of tumultuous joy and fear I held her in my arms, as I carried her to the room into which her uncle had been borne. But before I reached the door she opened her eyes languidly. Then with a startled look, full consciousness returned.

"Put me down," she said, and struggled to her feet. But so unsteadily did she stand that she was forced to reach out for support, and I put a sustaining arm about her.

"What is it?" she asked in a whisper. "Did I get knocked down? My head is going round and round."

"No, you are all right," I said soothingly. "There was a little too much excitement outside for you, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I was goose enough to faint, was I?" she said, disengaging herself with a swift movement. But once more in full command of herself, tears of apprehension gathered in her eyes, and she asked, "Where is uncle?"

And as I motioned to the door, she turned and ran into the room where Wharton Kendrick lay white and still upon a couch. Mercy Fillmore's deft hands were washing the wound, a servant was assisting, and the four men who had brought the wounded master into the house stood about in wait for orders. With a word I sent three to rejoin the line of defense, and directed the fourth to slip out the back way in quest of Doctor Roberts.

Laura Kendrick took her place quietly at Mercy Fillmore's side and with tense self-possession assisted at the dressing of the wound. And in the calmness and practised touch with which they played the part of surgeons I had demonstration of the skill they had acquired in the weeks of service which they had devoted to Moon Ying.

"I don't see why he doesn't come to himself," said Laura, when the bandage had been adjusted. "I wish we could get the doctor."

"I have sent a man after him," I said.

"Do you think he can get through that howling mob of savages? I'm afraid he will be killed; and if he isn't, the doctor can never get in."

"Oh, there's the back gate. I hope the doctor's not above taking it." I had hardly spoken when I was checked at seeing my messenger standing in the hall. Before I could exclaim at his sudden return, he had beckoned me out with a warning finger on his lips.

At his signal I left the room with an attempt to disguise my disturbance of mind under the pretense of idle restlessness.

"What's the matter?" I asked, as soon as I got the man away from the door.

"There's a gang over in the next yard," he said, "and I couldn't get through. I'm afraid they're getting ready to set fire to the house. I smelt kerosene when I climbed on the fence. One of 'em says something about 'smoking 'em out,' an' I guess they're fixing up some sort of fire-balls."

"Where are you going?" asked Miss Kendrick, coming to the door. "You are not meaning to venture out among those savages again?"

"I think it's time I told them to go home," I said. "They are making a good deal of noise out there."

"You must not do anything of the sort," she said, catching my arm. "I told them to go, and if they won't go for my telling, they won't go for yours."

I bent over her with more tremors than I had felt in the midst of the mob.

"I shouldn't go unless I thought it would help to protect you," I said.

"Well, if you must go," said Miss Laura, "please be careful and do not go out the front way. Take the side door, where there's nobody likely to see you." And leading the way down the passage between the library and the dining-room she slipped a bolt and opened the door enough to let us out. She held out her hand to me.

"You're not to get hurt," she murmured, as I paused.

"That settles it. I shall preserve a whole skin." And with a pressure of the hand, I hastened out the door.

The yells from the front came with renewed distinctness, but no sounds of attack were to be heard. The mob appeared to have resolved itself into a disorderly debating society. I hurried to the rear of the house with my messenger.

"Are any of our men back here?" I asked.

"One--Reardon is at the kitchen steps," replied the man.

Reardon proved to be awake and ready for any enterprise, and we advanced to the fence and reconnoitered. The dim light showed a band of fifteen or twenty men gathered a few yards away in the vacant lot behind the Kendrick place.

"Aren't they ready yet?" asked one impatient conspirator. "I could have fixed forty fire-balls in the time you've taken to fix those three."

"Why didn't you come and do it then?" was the resentful and belligerent answer. "I'll have them ready in a jiffy."

With a few whispered words of direction I stationed my men by the fence, a dozen yards apart, and took my place between them. Then climbing up I gave a blast on a police whistle, and cried:

"Now, boys, gather them in. Don't let one get away." And at the word I fired three or four shots at the group and my men followed my example.

The surprise was complete. At the fusillade there was a scattering of the gang, and with a sudden realization of the importance of their personal safety they took to their heels and ran into Franklin Street.

"That was a foine job, sor. We must have hit a power of thim," said Reardon, with an exemplary faith in our marksmanship.

"I hope so," I said. I had been roused to fury by the deliberate preparations to burn the house, and had shot to do mischief. "It looks as though we had got one fellow, anyhow," I added, as I discovered a dark heap on the ground, and heard a whimpering groan.

We jumped down from the fence, and an advance of a few steps confirmed my guess. A man lay writhing on the earth, giving utterance to suppressed sounds of pain. Reardon knelt over him.

"Why, it's Danny Regan!" he cried. "What th' divil are ye doin' here, Danny?"

"Go 'way, ye murderin' spalpeen!" replied the stricken Danny. "Me leg is bruk. 'Tis a bullet sthruck me knee."

"'Twas me that give it to yez, Danny," said Reardon with a chuckle. "I picked ye out, me lad--an' whin Pat Reardon takes aim he niver misses. If he don't hit wan thing he hits another--an' it's dollars to dimes the other thing's jist as good."

The wounded man replied to this boast with an outbreak of curses.

"Yer timper's been soured, Danny," said Reardon. "That comes of mixin' in bad company. ''Tis evil communications corrupts a good disposition,' says Father Ryan; an' if you'd listened to him you'd a-been home an' in bed now wid two sound legs instead of wan."

"Well, take me home, Pat," groaned the wounded conspirator; "though maybe you'd like to make a clane job of it by puttin' wan iv yer bullets t'rough me head."

"Faith, I wouldn't waste another wan on yez. Bullets cost money. If I did me dooty I'd settle yer case by mashin' yer head in wid a rock."

"We wouldn't get so far as that," I said. "We'll compromise by holding him prisoner of war. Up with him now."

Our inexpert handling brought whimpers and curses from the prisoner. And in a few minutes we had him bestowed as comfortably as possible in the little room that the watchmen had used as a lounging place.

"Now," said I to my messenger, "get over to Doctor Roberts' house as fast as you can. Tell him Mr. Kendrick is hurt, and bring him back with you. Hurry!"

The messenger had scarce disappeared when Reardon exclaimed:

"Whist! There comes some more of 'em."

Above the excited hubbub of the besieging crowd in front could be heard a swelling roar that became more distinct with each moment. The significance of the sound was unmistakable. Another reinforcement was approaching, and in fear lest the assailants who had been beaten off were returning to attack us from the rear we ran back to the fence. All was quiet in that direction, and the hostile sounds now came so plainly from the front that I doubled speed to the threatened quarter just as a scattering crackle of pistol-shots punctuated the inarticulate language of the mob, and a volley of stones hurtled against the house with the explosive tinkle of breaking windows.

I reached the front yard just as another volley took out every window that faced the street, and saw that a concerted rush was being made against the place. A body of men was being pushed up the steps between the flanking walls by the pressure of the mob behind, and immediately before me--at the side of the garden--two young men were mounting the wall on the shoulders of their companions, the vanguard of a flank attack that would capture the place if they once got a foothold. I fired a shot at one, who disappeared with a surprising suddenness, and then bethinking myself of the unwisdom of wasting bullets, I ran forward and brought down my revolver on the head of the other invader. He had just got his knee on the railing, but he went down the eight-foot drop with a yell of pain and a torrent of bad language. At the same moment the men who were defending the steps threw the assailing column into confusion by a fortunate volley, and the attack gave back. A score of answering shots came from the mob, and a bullet whistled so close to my ear that I clapped my hand to the spot with the thought that a piece had been taken off. The agreeable disappointment of finding that I was mistaken was overshadowed a moment later by the discovery that the wall at the farther side of the garden had been scaled by a dozen of the mob, and that others were clambering up in their path.

"Look out there on your right, Andrews!" I cried, hastening to join the company. "They are on the terrace."

Before I reached the steps the dozen had increased to a score, and it looked as though we were to be overwhelmed by numbers. For an instant it seemed that our best chance lay in retreating into the house in the hope that it would serve as a fortress until the police arrived. But as the house was only a wooden structure, and it was the expressed purpose of the mob to burn us out, I felt it was to be regarded as the last resort of resistance.

"Shoot them down!" I cried.

"Not much chance," said Andrews as I reached him. "We're down to our last cartridges."

This was a sickening bit of information, but it assured me that prompt action was of the last importance. I took one of my men by the shoulder and pushed him over toward the position I had just left.

"Here," I said, "see that nobody gets over that wall. You two," picking out a pair of the guards, "hold the stair. Come on, the rest of you. We must clear these fellows out. Double quick, now."

At this command the men sprang forward by my side, and we ran to the invaded quarter, firing off our remaining cartridges as we charged.

The mob was mostly of but poor stuff, after all. Half of those who had been bold enough to climb to the terrace halted at sight of our advance, and dropped over the wall to the sidewalk in panic. But we were, nevertheless, greatly outnumbered by those who stood their ground, and a scattering though harmless fusillade gave evidence that they were armed.

In a moment we were in the thick of it. Fists, clubs and revolvers were flying, and the thud of body blows could be heard under the cries and curses that formed the dramatic chorus to the struggle. We used our empty revolvers as clubs, and we appeared to do more execution with them handled thus than with all the bullets we had fired. A bullet has a way of wandering from its mark, but a pistol-barrel brought down with a vigorous arm on a man's head never fails in execution, and has a tendency to turn the most ardent warrior into the ways of peace. But in spite of good luck, discipline and desperation, we were far from having the battle all our own way. I had envied the ease with which my favorite heroes of romance bowled over half a dozen enemies with fist or sword, and I envied them still more when I found myself in a place to put their lessons into practice. I had not been in the conflict more than a minute when a knock on the head from a bony fist and a thump on the shoulder from a club sent me to the grass with a realization of how much better it is to give than to receive. But I was fortunate enough to be up again in a moment, and laying about me with a savage hope of repaying with usury the men who had sent me to the ground.

How the battle would have gone if we had been left to our unaided strength, I shall leave to less partial historians to say. But just as I had been thoroughly impressed with the fact that seven men have their work cut out for them when they are called on to attack a score, I heard a roar from the mob that finally separated into an articulate cry of--

"Here come the cops! Look out for the police! Knock their heads off!" And a company of the guardians of order could be seen charging down the avenue.

The pugilistic activities of the mob in the presence of the police, however, appeared to be purely vocal. So far as I was able to observe, the head-knocking business was wholly on the other side.

At the warning cry there was a sudden slackening of activity among the invaders of the terrace. Then they began to drop over the wall to rejoin the retreating main body, and in a minute, with a panic rush, they were all gone. And while I caught my breath once more I had the satisfaction of seeing the mob driven like sheep before a company of some twenty-five policemen, who were savagely rapping with their clubs at every head they could reach. The crowd was flying from a body of men that it could have swallowed up, smothered, annihilated, by sheer force of numbers, awed less by the physical force represented by the clubs than by the moral force of law that lay behind them.

I hailed the police captain as a brother and a preserver, and hastily explained the state of affairs.

"It's a bad night for us all," he said. "We're fighting 'em from North Beach to Tar Flat. They've killed a dozen Chinamen, an' I'll bet my straps there isn't a Chinese wash-house left with a window in the whole city."

"I'm afraid we aren't much better off here," I said, with a rueful look at the vacant sashes of Wharton Kendrick's windows.

"It's bad--it's bad," said the officer. "We got word they were coming here, and the chief sent us up to clear the avenue. Then we heard that they were settin' fire to Stanford's and Crocker's so we rushed over to Nob Hill. It was only a small crowd there, though, and after chasin' them out, we hurried up here."

"You were just in time," I said. "We were hard pressed."

"I'm sorry I can't leave you a few men," said the captain, "but we've got too much work ahead of us. I don't think they'll try it again. But we'll look around this way again in an hour or two."

CHAPTER XXII

I BECOME A MAN OF BUSINESS

I was a sorry sight when I entered the house once more, with one sleeve torn from my coat, a large and growing lump over my right eye, and my clothing an impressionist study in grass-stains and earth colors.

In the excitement of the moment I was not aware of the picturesque figure I made until I saw the horror-stricken look that swept over Laura Kendrick's face as she met me in the hall.

"Oh," she cried, "you did go and get yourself murdered, after all!"

"No, indeed. I had a day's work crowded into a few minutes, but we got them driven off, and I'm as sound as a dollar." I spoke with the exultation of victory; but with the reaction from the excitement and fatigue of the battle I felt the need of a place to sit down and pull myself together.

"Then you're very well disguised," she returned anxiously. "Are those dreadful wretches all gone? Come into our hospital here--right away--and we'll wash the blood off your face, and try to put you to rights."

"How is Mr. Kendrick?" I asked, as she led me toward the "hospital."

"He has opened his eyes and said a few words. Doctor Roberts is here, and has stitched up his head, and says he will be all right in a week or two if we take good care of him."

The room set aside for the hospital had a highly professional look. Wharton Kendrick lay on the same couch on which I had left him. Doctor Roberts was bending over him, carefully adjusting the bandage on his head. Near them I was surprised to see Danny Regan of the broken leg, attended by Mercy Fillmore, while at the other side of the room, propped up in an easy chair, was Moon Ying, looking on the scene with passive wonder.

"Sit here," ordered Miss Kendrick, wheeling a big chair to the table, and I was glad to obey. "Yes," she continued, noting my scrutiny of Danny Regan and Moon Ying. "The cook complained of the groans she heard from the men's room, so we found out what had happened and had the man brought here. And just before the rocks began to fly I had run up to see about Moon Ying, so I had her carried down. It was lucky I did, for we had hardly got out of the room when bang-cling! went every window in the front of the house. I thought she had best be on the ground floor in case of fire, and this room was as safe as any in the house. My! what a bump you did get. A riot is 'most as bad as falling downstairs, isn't it?"

With deft fingers she had wiped away the stains of battle, and now she wrung out a cloth in cold water, folded it into a compress, and bound it skilfully over my swollen forehead.

I leaned back luxuriously, and gazed with admiration on my nurse.

"It's quite worth while, after all," I said.

She colored, but looked steadily at me as she worked.

"Don't get too appreciative," she said.

"Impossible!" I interrupted.

"Because," she said, "I'm coming to believe that you're not so badly hurt as your poor head looks. The blood on your face isn't yours at all, but came from somebody else--"

"You ought to see the other fellow," I murmured softly.

"--and you've been getting sympathy under false pretenses, and I really think I ought to call Jane to look after you while I attend to uncle."

"I shall sink into the last stages of dissolution," I protested, "if you turn me over to an incompetent nurse."

"Incompetent! Why, Jane is twice as competent as I."

"It depends on the complaint. I'm sure she wouldn't understand mine at all."

Laura smiled indulgently as she adjusted the last knot on the bandage.

"There," she said, "you're quite picturesque, and you'll be all right in the morning. And I don't think you need anybody to look after you at all."

I was about to protest that my condition was most serious when she was called to Wharton Kendrick's couch, and I caught Moon Ying's eyes fixed on mine. I smiled and nodded, and she beckoned me, so I wheeled my chair to her side.

"What I tell-em you?" she said. "I no go 'way, bad man come, all same shoot, fight, tly bu'n house, eh?"

"This not for you, Moon Ying," I reassured her. "Bad man come, anyhow. Plenty of that kind outside of Chinatown."

Moon Ying shook her head and pointed to Danny Regan.

"Him Li'l John's explessman--I sabby him many time come Li'l John's place."

I looked at Danny Regan's low-browed countenance, and realized that an attack of the highbinders' mercenaries had been made under cover of the larger attack of Bolton's hirelings and the anti-Chinese mob.

"I think you're right, Moon Ying," I said. "But just you sabby this: bad men in front of house, they no come from Little John; they were after Mr. Kendrick. You can claim those fellows behind the house. But you see we are no worse off for having you here. 'Twas the other fellows who broke the windows."

I was just on the point of interrogating Danny Regan as to the inspiring cause of his raid when I heard Wharton Kendrick's voice rise in querulous tones:

"Here, I must get up," he said with evident effort. "Is the city on fire?"

"After a while," said the soothing voice of the doctor. "The city is all safe, and you'll have to wait till to-morrow before you get out."

"I must look after things to-night," said the patient, his voice rising complainingly. "I must look after things."

I got to my feet and walked softly to his couch. He was vainly trying to rise, and beating the air helplessly with his hands.

"I must get out--help me, somebody!" he cried in an appealing voice. He tried to lift himself, but his body refused to obey his will.

The doctor uttered a soothing protest.

Miss Kendrick added her voice to the authority of the doctor and at her quieting words Wharton Kendrick closed his eyes. Then on a sudden he opened them widely, and again attempted to raise his head.

"It's the business--it's the business!" he cried with the voice of one who had brought a forgotten thing from the depths of his memory. "It's all upset. I must see to it, or it will be too late."

She patted him again with gentle hand.

"There--there," she said, in the comforting mother-tone. "It will be all right. You can't do anything to-night. It's after ten o'clock."

He gave a groan.

"The markets will go to smash in the morning unless we get ready for them to-night. It's all up," he moaned. "It was all in my head, and it's all gone. There'll be a smash in the market to-morrow, and I can't help it." Then he broke into passionate sobbing, while Laura Kendrick knelt over him, wiped away his tears, and made above him those murmuring sounds with which the mother comforts the hurt child.

It was with something of the awe with which one meets the earthquake that I witnessed the collapse of the fortitude and self-control in Wharton Kendrick. The foundations of the earth seemed breaking up when I saw this type of self-reliant manhood whimpering and weeping like a whipped schoolboy.

Doctor Roberts had been attending to Danny Regan of the broken leg, but he now returned to his more demonstrative patient.

"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."

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.

He studied it carefully, and then nodded his head as though it met his approval. At last he said:

"Well, then, there's a way out. I was coming in this morning to put through that swamp-land deal. Why, you were at Kendrick's on Sunday when I told him that he was going to accept eight hundred thousand for that land, and he hemmed and hawed, and told me to come in this morning. Of course I could see in his eye that he was going to take me up, but he was playing coy. Now I'll make you the offer I would make him if he was here. I'll pay you five hundred thousand down, balance in thirty days, or when deed passes." He looked at me with a mixture of business shrewdness and bluff friendship.

"I'll take the responsibility of accepting that offer," I said promptly. And General Wilson drew his check and scribbled a few lines on a sheet of paper.

"Here, sign this receipt and memorandum of agreement, and give me that power of attorney; I'll have it recorded," he said. "Now take that check and get over to the bank as quick as the Lord'll let you. We'll make out the contract in due form this afternoon, and I'll get that on record, too." Then he chuckled jovially, and gave me another slap on the back as he added: "Stick to me, and I'll make a Napoleon of Finance out of you yet, Hampden."

Until I felt the sudden rebound of my spirits when I saw the check in my hand, I did not realize how horribly I had been scared. I was in a position to appreciate the feelings of a man who felt his house tumbling about his ears in a mighty earthquake, and had waked to find it only a nightmare. But I thanked General Wilson calmly, and rushed hurriedly over to the bank. I had small difficulty in impressing the president with the importance of haste; and the account was cleared and entered in my name before the opening hour.

As I returned to the office I met William T. Coleman coming away. His face was calm with resolute strength, and his eyes carried the magnetic inspiration of courage.

"I just looked in to tell you that I can't sit with your committee for an hour or two," he said. "I have some other irons in the fire; but I'll be in later. Partridge and Nelson are there now, and whatever they approve will be satisfactory to me. If you get at loggerheads, send for me, and I'll come."

His manner more than his words put me in heart with the assurance that I should not have to stand alone in battle, and I hastened with fresh confidence to take my place in the council.

"They're hammering things pretty hard on the exchanges," said Partridge after greetings had been made. "Prices are holding up well, so far, but I guess we'll have to put a brace under some of those fellows inside of half an hour." And with a clouded brow he studied the strip that came from the ticker.

"Carey and Son are shaky," said Nelson. "So are Benbow and Johnson, and a dozen others. And worst of all we've got to put some more coin into those confounded banks."

"It's like throwing the money away," groaned Partridge. "They can't put up collateral that a gambler would look at."

Nelson adjusted his gold-rimmed eye-glasses to look at his list of suspects, and gave his head a shake.

"Well, we've got to keep them afloat till these troubles are over," he said with decision.

"And the infernal part of it is," said Partridge, "that those fellows know it. I'd give a thousand dollars out of my own pocket, if we could let them drop without hurting any one else." And he resumed his study of the ticker with an irritated face.

The noise of the shouting crowds that filled and surrounded the exchanges floated up through the windows, rising and falling like the roar of ocean breakers. There was a curious variation of quality in the swelling volumes of sound. Now it expressed apprehension; now desperation; and again there was the tonic roar of exultation rising above the lesser cries.

We had not been in consultation ten minutes when the first application for support came from a pale but assertive man who tried to conceal his desperation under an air of bluster.

"Manning, of Smith and Manning," whispered Nelson to me, as the man entered the door.

He began to explain his business in roundabout phrase.

"Never mind that, Manning," said Partridge. "You're in the door, and you'll be squeezed if we don't help you. That's the long and short of it. How much are you in for, and what security can you offer? Let's see those papers. They tell the story, don't they?"

Manning wiped his forehead, with a sigh, and looked relieved rather than hurt at Partridge's abruptness.

"Five thousand will pull us through," he gasped.

"No it won't," said Partridge, running over the papers. "Here's another note for thirty-five hundred. Einstein and Company won't wait. This is a pretty poor showing. No wonder the bank wouldn't carry you any longer!"

"We can get along all right if we get out of this hole," pleaded Manning.

"Well, we'll take up these two claims on your note for thirty days," said Partridge after a telegraphic glance at Nelson and me. "Sign here."

I made out the checks, and Manning, once more putting on his blustering air as he would have put on an overcoat, went out to face his enemies.

From this time on, there was a steady stream of applicants, some frankly admitting their desperate condition, some trying to conceal their fears under an assumption of confidence. But whatever of pretense a man had covered himself with to enter our office was ruthlessly stripped from him as soon as he made his request for money. For one minute of the day, at least, he had to face the truth, and to see himself as he was. I soon discovered that Partridge's judgment of commercial paper was quick and sure. Nelson and I recognized our inferiority and promptly deferred to his opinions. Only once during the day did we overrule him, and in that instance we acted rather on an inspiration of mercy than on our commercial judgment.

"His paper is no good, and he wouldn't carry anybody else with him if he went to the wall," objected Partridge, when the man we had insisted on saving from ruin had gone out.

"The paper is bad," admitted Nelson, "but the man is all right. I like his looks."

"Yes," I added, "we have double the chance of getting the money back from him that we have of getting it from that fat, oily-tongued fellow who stood us up for twenty thousand a few minutes ago."

I was pleased to remind Partridge of the incident a few months later when our protégé redeemed his obligation in full at the same time that the oily-tongued heavy-weight compromised for thirty cents on the dollar.

But despite this temporary disagreement I was none the less ready to follow Partridge's judgment on the cases that came before us. And after the cross-questioning of the applicant was over, Nelson and I rarely refused a nod of assent to his inquiring glance. His comments ran something like this, as the stream of the financially lame, halt and blind passed before us:

"That's all tommyrot--you don't need the half of that. Seven thousand will pull you through. Here! what do you mean by coming to us? Any bank in the city would take that collateral. No. Not a dollar unless you will make over your stock to Nelson as trustee. Here! you'll have to get your brother to sign that note. Take it now. He'll do it, when you tell him that we won't touch it without. That collateral is no good; I know you've got better. Don't waste our time, unless you're willing to show it. See here! you'll need more than that. What do you mean by telling us that you owe only ten thousand when your balance-sheet here calls for eighteen? Come now, do you think we are running a charity soup-house? You've got unencumbered real estate; raise your money on that."

We had been at this work close upon two hours when William T. Coleman returned. He brought a list of merchants who would need assistance, and the amounts that we might safely advance them.

"There's a very scary feeling outside," he said. "There are all sorts of rumors about plots to burn the city, and some men are foolish enough to say that San Francisco is going to be worse than Pittsburgh."

"That's not impossible," said Nelson.

"I know there has been plenty of talk in the anti-coolie clubs about burning the Pacific Mail steamers," I said. "But I don't think they will have the courage for it."

"It's only a question of leadership," said Coleman, "and that may develop at any minute. A mob is a queer creature. You can't tell what it will do. It is a coward by itself, but it is often capable of great courage when it has a leader--sometimes when it thinks it has a leader."

"What we need is troops," said Nelson. "I hope, Coleman, that you will use your influence with Bryant and Governor Irwin to get the militia called out. They ought to ask for Federal troops. There'll be no nonsense where they are stationed. They shoot to kill."

"You might bring your plans before the citizens' meeting this afternoon," said Coleman shortly.

Partridge had been studying the ticker intently, and now growled:

"There's somebody raising the devil out there in the stock-market. He's got the El Dorado Bank behind him by the looks of things, and he's whacking at prices with a sledge-hammer."

The name of this modern practitioner in the black art was on the tip of my tongue, but I kept it from escaping. If Wharton Kendrick had not revealed it in the course of the previous raid, it was evidently my cue to keep still.

The contest grew hotter as the day advanced. The waiting-room was filled with anxious men, and we watched with concern the growing total of advances we had been compelled to make. The Sundown Bank had to be rescued twice from imminent failure, and two other banks called upon us for loans. We had groaned at the character of the collateral offered by the Sundowners, but there was no help for it. We had to advance enough to keep their doors from closing, or the wreck would have begun; and once under way at this troublous juncture we saw no limit to the ruin ahead. But at last it was over. Three o'clock came, the banks closed, and rumor and fear could only threaten of trouble to come.

"Well, there's a hard day gone," said Partridge with a sigh of relief.

"And another one just beginning," said Coleman placidly.

"How do we stand now?" asked Nelson.

"We paid out three million seven hundred and ninety-eight thousand," I returned, glancing at the figures.

"That leaves us--?"

"Three million five hundred and twenty-two thousand."

"That is too small a margin for safety," said Coleman with decision. "This thing isn't over yet. I thought we would have enough to carry us through, but I see we must have more. You'll have to get out, Partridge, and you, too, Nelson, and see what can be done in the way of raising more money."

"I suppose it has got to be done," said Partridge. "We can't afford to go broke now." And Nelson nodded assent.

Coleman then turned to me: "It's time we were going over to the citizens' meeting," he said. "I've promised to preside. We are to meet in the Chamber of Commerce rooms, over here." And taking me by the arm, he led me out of the office.

During the stress of the day's business, we had come into close relations, and I had been more than ever impressed with the vigorous sense of this man. He displayed on that small field all the qualities of leadership demanded in the management of a nation. His resource and calm strength of mind inspired me with an unwonted warmth of admiration, and I could even then think only with regret of the ruler and statesman who had been smothered into the habit of a painstaking merchant. The generous emotions of hero-worship thrilled within me, and I was delighted to find that my admiration was repaid with a show of liking and confidence.

"There is one thing I am apprehensive about," he said, as we climbed the stairs to the Chamber of Commerce. "This meeting is a necessary thing, but it seems to have roused anxiety rather than allayed it. I hope that the speeches will be of a character to inspire confidence in our ability to handle the situation. If we don't inspire that confidence, we shall do more mischief than good."

As we entered the hall, we saw that it was already well filled with the solid men of the city. Mayor Bryant was there with the chief of police. General McComb nodded to me, and hastened to speak to Coleman. Members of the state and city governments, bankers, merchants, and a sprinkling of other classes of society were to be seen in the groups about the room.

There was more of cheerful calmness about the meeting than I had expected to find. The fact that these men were present was proof that they felt the emergency to be grave; but their talk was flavored with the saving salt of American humor that no calamity can suppress, and inspired by the optimistic American sentiment that "it will all come out right somehow."

I had scarce found a seat when General McComb with his most impressive military air called the meeting to order. When the company had been reduced to silence, he continued:

"I have taken the liberty of sending out the circulars that requested you to meet here for the purpose of considering the safety of the city. The people see in Monday night's outbreak the dangers that come when the passions of the mob are given full sway. An honored citizen has been struck down, property has been destroyed, and threats of worse things to come are heard on every side. In this emergency we should organize to give the city the protection essential to its preservation. We have with us a man who has twice come forward to lead the loyal citizens in the task of putting down the lawless and criminal elements of the city. I ask that William T. Coleman be chosen as chairman of this meeting."

The response left no doubt that Mr. Coleman was the assembly's unanimous choice. The men who had gathered there looked toward him with as unquestioning confidence as ever soldiers looked to their captain. And at the shout that answered General McComb, he walked to the chair with the assured step of a man accustomed to command.

"I thank you for your confidence," he said. "I have not thought, I do not think, that there is any pressing danger. But I recognize the moral value of organization in times of disquiet, and I am here to assist in putting the physical force of the city at the disposition of the authorities. I have not seen any need for augmenting the military or police forces of the city. But General McComb and Mayor Bryant, who have had better opportunities than I to observe the situation, have thought differently. Therefore let us take precautions. The people of this city have proved through many trials that they are essentially law-abiding. But there is a dangerous element here--an element of lawless young men who do not think of results, and who do not shrink from violence. If I had not realized this fact before, I should have been forced to acknowledge it when one of my closest friends fell a victim last night to their anger. But I have full confidence in the manhood of San Francisco. If the city is threatened by a rising of the disorderly elements I am ready to assure the authorities that a force of twenty thousand men can be raised, if need be, for the defense of our homes and property."

A silence followed the applause evoked by this speech. If the speaker expressed more confidence than he felt, his words accomplished their purpose of rousing the courage of the assembly before him. Then a mild-faced man rose, and in halting voice asked the privilege of putting a question.

"Mr. Chairman," he began, "why are not the constituted authorities sufficient to cope with this outbreak? We have police. We have a militia. They are the lawful arm of government to chastise the evil-doer. Why are they not competent to handle the hoodlum mobs?"

General McComb was touched to the quick by the question thus put, and rose with an air of military dignity.

"I can answer for the militia," he said with some asperity. "There is no more loyal and competent body anywhere than the one I have the honor to command. But the troops must be supported by the assurance that they have the moral and physical backing of law-abiding citizens. That is why I have asked you to meet us here. I have no doubt you would like to hear from our worthy mayor on the needs of the city in this emergency."

Mayor Bryant got to his feet at this indirect appeal, and a much troubled mayor he appeared. I doubted not from his expression that he would have welcomed some plan by which his office might be administered on the model of those German newspapers whose editors delegate to some hireling the responsibilities that lead to lèse-majesté and the jail, and pursue their way undisturbed by thoughts of consequences.

"I approve the proposed organization of citizens to coöperate with the municipal authorities," he began in halting and anxious tones. "It will help us to keep the peace. But there wasn't so much violence last night as some have thought. The body of the meeting was orderly. The trouble came only from the hoodlums who broke off from it in droves to commit violence. The responsible men of the labor organizations who were present have called on me to say that they had no idea that the hoodlums would take advantage of the meeting to create disorder."

Several military men followed the mayor with speeches of a fiery nature, and advocated stern measures to subdue the riotous elements. At these outbursts of martial ardor I could see Coleman's mouth tighten imperceptibly into lines of disapproval and determination. At last his growing impatience could be restrained no longer, and he interrupted a resplendent militia colonel who was in full flight of an oration calling for "action at once."

"I understand this subject," said Coleman with decision, "and you don't. This is a matter that should not be discussed too fully or too publicly. But since so much has been said, I will inform you, gentlemen, that you don't know the mine you are standing on. The safety or destruction of the city hangs on a pivot. There must be more spirit shown by the law-abiding elements, or the balance will turn toward destruction. There must be action, not talk. I do not want to accuse anybody of lethargy, but the fact is there are too many men who call for the suppression of disorder, and then go home and leave somebody else to attend to their protection. The men who most deserve protection are those who are ready to take arms in their hands to get it."

"Well, what course would you advise this meeting to take?" asked General McComb.

"Organize at once," said the chairman in vigorous tones. "Appoint a central committee--say of twenty-four. Then open rolls for men to sign, pledging their persons and their money to protect the wives, children and fortunes that are now at the mercy of the mob."

This inspiring counsel brought the assembly to its feet. In a tumult of enthusiasm it was agreed that the chairman should appoint the committee, and that the work of organization should begin at once. It was over in another ten minutes. Coleman named the committee without hesitation, and after it had held a brief session he announced that it had reported in favor of immediate organization, and added:

"You are invited to put your hands to this instrument:

"'We, the undersigned citizens of San Francisco, do hereby enroll ourselves as a General Committee of Safety, subject to the requirements of the Special Committee of Twenty-Four, of which William T. Coleman, Esq., is President, and we do hereby bind ourselves to act with the committee to preserve the peace and well-being of the city with our money and persons.'

"You will be given directions where to assemble, and what duties you are to perform. I hope no able-bodied citizen will fail to give us his services and support."

At a significant gesture from the president, these solid men of the city crowded about the secretary to sign their names, and the Committee of Safety was born.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE JUSTICE OF BIG SAM

"You seem to have done a good day's work," was Miss Kendrick's comment on my brief account of the commercial struggle, "and you'll make a business man yet if you keep on. I wish you could tell uncle about it, but he's still unconscious." And her lip trembled at the sudden remembrance of Wharton Kendrick's peril, until I thought for the moment that she was going to burst into tears. But she commanded herself, and continued in steady voice: "And now that you've done so well, I'll give one of those reward-of-merit cards you used to get in school. It came this afternoon, and I'm dying to know what's in it." And she brought out a letter addressed in fine Spencerian copperplate script to "Mr. Hampden, the Lawyer of Mr. Kendrick's House on Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco."

I read the address with some wonder, and Laura Kendrick continued:

"Moon Ying says that funny little sign up in the corner is Big Sam's seal; but he surely never wrote that remarkable address. I suppose it is by one of his clerks."

At this, I hastily opened the envelope, and found within a formal note:

Kwan Sam Suey requests the pleasure of Mr. Hampden's company, at his office in Waverly Place, this evening, at as early an hour as convenient.

I passed the note over to Miss Kendrick.

"It looks as though there was going to be a party," she said, "or a supper at the very least. I hope you won't overeat--or worse."

"Big Sam has never suggested such an idea as eating or drinking, though I don't put it beyond him. But he surely hasn't picked out this season of alarms to give a reception. So if you'll excuse me, I'll run down to his place. It may be something important."

"Of course you must go--and you must come back, too. I'm sure I can't sleep till I know what it's about. I shall be up most of the night, and so will Mercy; so you needn't have qualms about ringing the bell, even if you are later than late. There will be somebody to let you in."

"As I'd rather be here than anywhere else, I shan't miss the chance to come back," I said boldly.

She ignored my words, and evaded my devouring glances, and with a sage nod suggested that the sooner I was on my way, the sooner I should have a chance to come back.

As I went down the steps I was stricken with a jealous pang to see Mr. Baldwin coming up with the air of a conquering army. He gave me a cool "Good evening," and then asked, in his most superior manner, if I were on my way to stir my friends to further exertions.

"I have but one object in life," I returned in a confidential tone, "and that is to put your particular friend and client inside four stone walls where he can't do any more harm. And you can tell Mr. Bolton so with my compliments, too."

From his muttered response, I gathered that my reminder of his connection with Peter Bolton did not give him unalloyed pleasure, and pleased with the consciousness that I had given more than I had received in the way of irritation, I went my way to Chinatown.

There were abundant signs of unrest in both the white and the yellow city. Bands of hoodlums still ranged the streets, and fought runaway actions with the police. Householders seemed in fear, and windows that were customarily cheerful with lights now looked with darkened shades upon the streets.

Chinatown was as forbidding as on the night of my last visit, and such lights as were to be seen shone through closed shutters and barred doors. But despite the atmosphere of sullen hostility that lay like a fog upon the district, I made my way without interference to Waverly Place and rapped on Big Sam's door. My name secured prompt admittance. The door was unbarred for a moment for my entrance, and promptly barred once more, and I was led through a crowd of sullen, hostile-faced hatchet-men to Big Sam's reception-hall.

The King of Chinatown sat by his desk in his flowing robes of state, but rose and offered me his hand as I entered.

"I thank you for your prompt attention, Mr. Hampden," he said, motioning me courteously to a high-backed chair at his side. I thought I could detect a trace of worry in his eyes, but his face was as impassive as ever.

"I am flattered to receive your invitation."

"It is not an idle one."

"I should be slow to believe so--especially after the prompt fulfilment of your last prophecy."

"You have the eye of the reader of thoughts," said Big Sam with a faint smile. "You speak of the very point I wish to ask about. I note by the papers that you were attacked--or Mr. Kendrick, to be accurate."

"Oh, I was fortunate enough to share in it," I said nonchalantly.

"Hardly a matter for congratulation, Mr. Hampden. Kindly let me know what happened. Was it by my people, or--"

He paused, and I replied:

"We were attacked in front by the anti-Chinese mob, three hundred or more strong, and in the rear by a score or so of ruffians that I have reason to suppose were hired by your people."

"I should be obliged for your reasons."

"They are at your service." And I gave the accumulated facts from Little John's attempt to drag away the Chinese girl, to Danny Regan's identification by Moon Ying.

As I set forth my tale, a certain fire of rage kindled in Big Sam's face without disturbing the impassivity of his features. He seemed to grow larger, and I could understand how great monarchs cause men to tremble by something more than the physical forces at their command. Some subtle force irradiated from the man, and only a strong will could refuse to yield to the fear that he inspired.

As I ended my tale, he muttered, "The dogs--to violate their word--to cross my orders--to risk everything at this crisis!"

Then he clapped his hands, and two men appeared, and after a few words vanished.

"I hope you will not object if I detain you for a time," said Big Sam, relaxing something of his anger.

"Not at all, if I can be of service."

"You mean that you would not stay as a social diversion," he said with a faint smile. "Well, you can be of service, Mr. Hampden, and permit me in the interval to offer you the hospitalities that should pass between friends." He gave his hands another clap, and in a moment a servant entered bearing a tray with a teapot and cups, and placed it before Big Sam. My host poured the tea as I exclaimed at the beauty of the porcelain in the highly decorated pot and the thin cups.

"I presume you prefer sugar and milk," said Big Sam, hesitating.

If I had possessed an insatiable appetite for these luxuries, the note of scorn in his voice would have forbidden me to confess it. But I had been dealing with Chinese clients long enough, and had drunk tea enough in Chinese fashion, to make it a matter of indifference to me, and I gave him a cheerful negative.

"What an exquisite flavor!" I exclaimed, as I sipped from the dainty cups. "Where do you get such tea?"

"I have it brought over by a special agent. It is not such as you can buy in the stores. That you may realize that you do not see all of China in the externals we present in San Francisco, I will remind you that you consider that you get a very good tea when you pay two dollars a pound for it. It is a good tea. But this that you are drinking costs eighty dollars a pound in China. You see we have a few luxuries--possibly some that you would not recognize. This is the tea of the gods, and I am pleased to see that you do not profane its flavor." The servant had brought in another tray, and Big Sam pressed me to eat of some preserved fish, which he praised more highly than I thought it deserved, and a fowl deliciously cooked with strange seasonings, ending with Chinese sweetmeats and a dash of fine Chinese brandy. I ate without hesitation, for all my suspicion of Chinese dishes, for I could believe that the man who drank tea at eighty dollars a pound would have nothing below the best.

And as we ate, Big Sam questioned me with a devouring curiosity of my views on the relations of China and the United States, on the future of the Orient, on the possible waking of China, on the destiny of the races, on the results of the anti-Chinese agitation; and though he gave little expression to his own views, he let drop many statesmanlike observations that showed how deeply he had thought upon these problems. Then at a sound from without, he had the trays cleared away, and the look of stern anger came back to his face.

"Now, Mr. Hampden, is the time for your assistance," he said. "I did not, as you may assume, invite you here to talk politics. That pleasure might have waited till a less troubled time. Matters of more importance await us. With your kind permission, we shall hold a high court of justice."

I had ceased to be astonished at anything that might happen in Big Sam's apartments. I bowed assent, and at a sharp rap on the desk, a score or more of sullen-faced Chinese entered, and formed in line along the walls. Apparently they bore no arms, but I judged from their expression that they belonged to the notorious hatchet-men, and carried all the paraphernalia of war under their loose blouses. Then entered two men of stern aspect, who walked with an air of command, and after greeting Big Sam they were introduced to me as the presidents of the Sare Bo and the See Yung tongs and were given seats beside us. Then at a curt order from Big Sam, another door opened, and two men entered dragging a protesting prisoner between them.

It was Little John, and by the fear that gleamed in his eyes and set his chin a-tremble, his forecast of the judgment of the high court of justice was most grave. He dropped to his knees, as he was dragged in front of the desk and made to face us, and beat his forehead on the floor with exclamations of protest and appeals for mercy. At a word from Big Sam the guards brought him to his feet, and Big Sam spoke briefly in Chinese. Then he turned to me.

"Is this the man, Mr. Hampden?"

"I have no doubt it is," I responded.

"Please repeat your story to these men," and he indicated the two Chinese presidents who looked with stern, impassive faces upon the trembling wretch before us.

"You will understand that this is not evidence," I said. "It is nothing that could be received in court, as I speak for the most part by hearsay."

"Proceed," said Big Sam. "Our justice is not pinioned in the bonds of your rules of evidence." And I repeated the account of the first visit of Little John, of his attempt to capture Moon Ying, of the assault on the Kendrick house by Danny Regan's ruffians, and Regan's identification by Moon Ying as Little John's expressman. From time to time Big Sam acted as interpreter, though in the main the Chinese appeared to understand me well enough.

The prisoner shook as with an ague at my disclosures, and his coarse goatee fluttered in sympathy with his flying heart. A few questions were put to him, and after admitting that he had visited the Kendrick place, he turned to denial, and became glib in his own defense. Big Sam translated to me in an undertone, and I could feel the anger in his voice rising higher and higher at each prevarication. At last Big Sam sprang to his feet, and pointing at me, thundered a question at Little John.

Little John hesitated, stumbled in his speech, hastily denied his words, then stopped and looked about him with evident realization that he was lost; and with a scream of terror he would have fallen had not the guards caught him and brought him roughly to his feet.

"Mr. Hampden, what shall be done with this man?" asked Big Sam.

"I have a warrant out for his arrest for disturbing the peace. I'm afraid I haven't evidence enough to satisfy our courts on a higher charge."

"Well, this court is satisfied--you believe him guilty, Mr. Hampden?"

"He is certainly guilty of attempted abduction."

He apparently put the same question to the two stern-faced men beside us, and they gave assent in brief phrases.

"The court is unanimous," said Big Sam. "Guilty of attempted abduction, violation of the bargain between the tongs, sacrificing the interests of his race to the interest of his tong by challenging the white vengeance. What should the penalty be, Mr. Hampden?"

"I think in our court he would get two years for the attempted abduction, assuming that he was convicted."

"A mild punishment, Mr. Hampden. I do not wonder that crime flourishes in your country with justice so feeble. But we have no prisons at our command. Death or exile or fine--these are the punishments we can enforce."

I shuddered at his words and tone, but it seemed impossible that we were discussing more than a theoretical case.

"Do you mean to say that our judgment will be carried out?" I cried.

"Certainly. An example is necessary; an offense has been committed; the guilty is before us for sentence."

"I should be satisfied with exile," I said, as Big Sam's eye demanded my choice.

He spoke to the two stern-faced men beside us, and at their answer turned to me.

"All but you, Mr. Hampden, favor death. It is less costly, and more effective."

"But he has not committed a capital offense," I protested.

"It is a capital offense by the laws of his own land. And if he had succeeded in burning Mr. Kendrick's house and killing Mr. Kendrick's family, I understand that it would have been a capital offense, even by the emasculate laws of your country. Is he the less guilty that his accomplices failed in the parts he had arranged for them?"

"Our laws give a lower punishment to the attempt than to the completed offense," I objected.

"Thereby making the suffering of the innocent and not the wickedness of the criminal the measure of guilt," said Big Sam. "It is enough. Let the sentence stand." And with a few words to the men who held the hapless Little John between them, the prisoner was dragged protesting through one of the mysterious doors of Big Sam's apartment, and disappeared at a turn of the labyrinth. Then with ceremonious bows, the stern-faced presidents of the tongs took their leave, and lastly Big Sam's retainers filed out.

"Do you mean that this man is to be killed?" I cried, when the doors had closed behind the departing. "Why, he is not even the principal in the crime. You have told me yourself that he is the representative of the Hop Sing Tong."

"When we can not catch the shark, we catch the pilot-fish," said Big Sam.

"But this is murder."

"Mr. Hampden," said Big Sam calmly, "this has been a very unpleasant affair, but, believe me, necessary. Let us not discuss it further. I have put it from my mind. I advise you to do the same. Do you believe that the organization of the Committee of Safety will have any effect on the troubles in the city?"

"I have every confidence in the man at the head of it. I believe it will be of material assistance in suppressing disorder."

"The revolutionary elements are strong," said Big Sam. "I have information that there is to be an armed outbreak to-morrow night. Will the Committee of Safety have its organization completed in time to check it? After that, it may be too late."

I wondered whether this warning had come from Peter Bolton, but I saw the futility of asking such a question of the man before me. I could merely express the hope that the huge task of enrolling, arming and instructing the men who were flocking to the Committee's leadership would be far enough advanced to make it of service before a serious outbreak occurred.

"If the Committee is overpowered, I presume we shall be left to our own defense," said Big Sam. "Well, we shall try to be ready. Permit me to thank you again for the pleasure of your company; and good night."

The retainers who held Big Sam's store in force looked at me impassively from their slant-eyes as I went out, and they appeared undisturbed at the scene that so many of them had witnessed. But as the door was closed and barred behind me, their voices broke forth in a chatter of singsong tones that revealed the excitement they had repressed to the eye. Big Sam's justice had at least impressed his followers.

Once more in the streets, the scene in Big Sam's hall seemed impossible, far away, of another world. I studied my duties to the laws of my own land, as I made my way through the darkened thoroughfares. Should I interfere, and try to save the life of Little John--even supposing that it was possible to find him in the Chinese labyrinths? Why? Did he not deserve his fate? And as the picture of Laura Kendrick crushed in the burning ruins of her house rose before my mind's eye, I could not deny that the world would be better off without the man who had planned such a deed. And with the conclusion to leave Chinese justice to the Chinese, I made my way back to the Kendrick house.