H. Bedford-Jones

“ I'll have it back to you in a couple of days—I want the Supreme Court decisions for 1904."
"Sure thing!" assented Paxham heartily. "I'll get it for you myself."
John Knuteson walked out with the volume under his arm.
Not a hope in the world! Those words echoed to his footsteps. All his own hopes had died when two blue eyes closed. Tilling—justice—no hope! It was like a Gordian knot which some Alexander must cut.
"The law isn't justice," he murmured with a mournful intonation. "There is no justice in the law. The law can see no mercy. ”

“ Knuteson knew Clark well—knew him for a bitter and intolerant man. Judge Clark, simply from the effort to be impartial, would be prejudiced against any case Knuteson handled. When Knuteson mentioned this, Tilling groaned and dropped his haggard face in his hands.
"Law is law and justice is justice," he said. "They ain't the same. There's no justice for me, because property rights were hurt. Property rights! And I turned over everything I had in the world to make good! Will you take the case, Mr. Knuteson? You're the only man living who can get me a show." ”

“ Paxham concluded that Knuteson, owing to his own recent grief, had been worked upon by sympathy.
Knuteson was watching Paxham more closely than the latter realized, and was still appalled by thought of the thing he had come here to do. He hoped that he would not have to do it.
"The bank directors are really the guilty ones," he went on. "They were criminally negligent. They knew Tilling was coming to the bank only an hour or two each day, and yet they let things slide. With his brother-in-law away, he had to show up. A small bank like that has no excuse for neglecting the personal element." ”