Chapter 11

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌‌​⁠The sky was black, and the stars dimmed by the street-lights. Stars and street-lights seemed to be weary. The electric acrobats had knocked off work, and hung lifeless upon their frames like burned-out fireworks.

A grown-up newsboy, choosing a soft tone as if afraid to waken the sleeping town, murmured confidentially:

"Morn' paper? Joinal, Woil, Hurl, Times, Sun, Tolegraf? Paper, boss?"

Forbes bought