Free Chance of a Lifetime by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

to think of some friend of his father’s that he could ask to come and help him, but he was sure that his reticent father would not have been willing to confide his troubles to anyone but Judge Whiteley. And Judge Whiteley seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. He groaned inwardly at the responsibility thrust upon his young shoulders.
    At half past ten there came a telegram from the city.
    W AS IN BAD AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT YESTERDAY . A M IN HOSPITAL . M Y REPRESENTATIVE WILL CALL ON YOU THIS AFTERNOON AT FIVE, FULLY EMPOWERED TO ACT . T HIS WILL BE YOUR LAST CHANCE . R AWLINS
    After Alan had read this twice he put on his hat, went over to the Brower boardinghouse, and asked if he might see a man named Rawlins who was boarding there.
    Mrs. Brower seated him in her dismal little parlor and toiled up to the third story back. It was some minutes before she returned bearing an open note in her hand.
    “Why, he isn’t here. He was called to the city on the early train this morning,” she said, glancing down at the paper in her hand as if to verify her statement.
    “When will he be back?” asked Alan, trying to get a glimpse of the handwriting on the note.
    “Well, I can’t say fer sure,” said the woman. “I guess fer supper. He generally turns up fer meals. He ‘lowed he had business here for another week yet.”
    Alan thanked her and departed, feeling reasonably sure that he knew his man, yet still uncertain what he ought to do next. If only Judge Whiteley were at home.
    The day wore on, the store full most of the time. The story of the burglar was beginning to seep out in spite of Alan’s efforts to have it kept quiet. Many people came in to ask questions, which made it none the easier, and the hour of five o’clock was drawing on. Rawlins’s representative would soon be there. Perhaps he ought to have told the police. He could have confided in Bill Atley. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. But Bill was chief and was on night duty this week. He would be asleep yet. And already it was five minutes after four. In despair he put his head down on the desk and began to pray. Joe had taken a customer down cellar to look over some different sizes of chicken wire, and there was no one else around for the moment. In panic and humiliation he prayed, “Oh God! I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this alone. There’s no one else but You to ask. Won’t You help me somehow quick? For Dad’s sake, won’t You help? For goodness’ sake— I’ve got to the limit.”
    There were hot tears stinging his eyes and he felt an overwhelming wave, like a sob, welling up uncontrollably from somewhere, just as if he had been a little kid. He must snap out of this somehow. He was a man.
    But suddenly, the telephone rang sharply in his ear.
    He jumped and found his hand trembling as he reached for the receiver. It was probably that snake Rawlins, or his man, and he wasn’t ready for him yet. What should he do?
    “Hello,” he said weakly. His voice was almost too husky to be heard.
    “Hello!” It was Judge Whiteley’s voice that boomed over the wire. “Is that you, Alan? This is Whiteley. They tell me at the house you’ve been trying to get me several times. Is there anything important? Called the house and your mother told me about your father’s accident. Anything I can do? I’m mighty sorry about it. I’m at Socker’s Point. Came up yesterday to try a case and couldn’t get away last night. Thought I’d better call you.”
    “Oh yes!” said Alan eagerly. “Oh, Judge! When can I see you? I’m in an awful hole and I need your advice.”
    “Can’t get back before eleven o’clock, Monday. Case is holding over. Would three o’clock, Monday, suit you all right? I expect I have a lot of business to clean up when I get back to the courthouse.”
    “Oh—” began Alan despairingly.
    “What’s the trouble, kid, anything you can tell me now? What is it, personal or business?”
    “Business!” said Alan