Thus, through his efforts, many a client, who would have gladly availed themselves of the brilliant young lawyer’s services, were influenced to go elsewhere, and their fees, which would have been such a help to Earle in these first dark days went to enrich the already overflowing coffers of some more noted and “respectable” practitioner of Blackstone. But, for all this, he won for himself some practice, in which he proved himself very successful, and not unfrequently gained the admiration of judge, jury, and spectators by his intelligence, shrewdness, and eloquence. But a covert sneer always followed every effort. Brother lawyers shrugged their shoulders and remarked, “what a pity it was that so much talent was not better appreciated, and that the taint upon his name must always mar his life,” it was a “pity, too, that so fine a young man otherwise, to all _outward appearance_, could not make a better living; but then people were apt to be shy of employing ‘prison-birds,’ the old proverb ‘set a thief to catch a thief’ to the contrary notwithstanding.” It was Sumner Dalton who had set this ball a-rolling, and had kept it in motion until the day came when Earle was obliged to sit from morning till night in his office, and no one came to him for advice or counsel. He remembered what Editha had told him to do if he had need—go to Mr. Felton and get enough for his wants; but he was too proud to do this—he would be dependent upon no one but himself. He could have gone and asked that lawyer to give him work, as he had said he would do; but if he had recourse to his offer, Editha would doubtless hear of it, and, thinking him to be in need, would be made unhappy thereby. Many a time the tempter whispered, when there was scarcely a dollar left in his purse: “Never mind, in a few months you will have but to reach forth your hand and pluck the golden harvest which Richard Forrester has set apart for you, and all your trials will be at an end.” It needed but Editha’s majority and her signature to insure him independence. But he would not yield. “I will build up my own foundation, or I will not build at all,” he would say at such times, with gloomy brow and firmly compressed lips, but with undaunted resolution. One evening he sat in his office more than usually depressed. He had not had a single call during the week, and now, as it was beginning to grow dusk, he yielded himself up to the sad thoughts that oppressed him. It was beginning to storm outside, and as he looked forth into the dismal street, a feeling of desperation and dreariness came over him, such as he had not experienced before. His office was excessively gloomy, for he did not indulge much in the luxury of gas nowadays, since he had not the wherewith to pay for it. His purse lay upon the table before him—he had been inspecting its contents and counting his money. All that remained to him in the world was a two-dollar bill and some small pieces of silver.