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Newspaper Page Text
THE DARKEST HOUR
By George Elmer Cobb.
(Copyright, by W. G. Chapman.)
It was merely a business coinci
dence that Robert A. Jones, law
yer, had offices in thcsame sky
scraper where Robert B. Jones,
also lawyer, had an office. The
comparison, however, was gro
tesque. "Judge" Jones occupied
He Faced a Dainty, Lissome
a suite on the second floor, about
as elaborate as the upholsterer's
art could make it. "Bill" Jones,
as his friends familiarly called
him, had a little ten-by-twelve
room at the top story. It con
tained a worn rug, a small desk,
two chairs and a bookcase hold
ing only the most necessary law
books required in the profession.
At these, his sole pbssessions,
Bob was staring gloomily. It was
the darkest hour in his life, and
the late afternoon shadows form
ed a fitting frame for his environ
ment. The agent for the building
surveyed Bob rather pittyingly.
"Sorry, Mr. Jones," he said,
"but it's the rule. There two
months' rent overdue I'll just
have the stuff here stored with
good care. Soonas you get on
your feet again you can pay up
and get it back. s
"No," said Bob definitely, "sell
it. I'm through."
"Don't say that," spoke the
"And look here, if it's right
down to bread and butter, why
I'm your friend," and the speaker
jingled some silver in his pocket
, "Thank you," said Bob in a
subdued tone, "but you've been
too indulgent already.
"I'll be on hand when you call
on me," declared the agent cheer
ily. "Don't give up the ship
always darkest before the dawn,
Bob leaned against the desk.
He was, indeed, "through." He
had made a brave fight no
clients, no money, and this was
the end. He brushed his hand
across his eyes as a flashing pic
ture of the old farm home, father,
mother, dead now, filled his mind.
Then he put on his hat and open
ed a drawer in the desk.
A pencil, a memorandum book,
two postage stamps, a meal ticket
with all the numbers punched out