Randolph Darling

Randolph Darling is a smart-dressed man in his well-cut suit and polished boots and derby hat. You might even call him a dude, a slicker, a greenhorn. Of middling height and medium build, his dark hair is carefully barbered and pomaded and his somewhat swarthy face is closely shaved, which is rare enough to make him seem young, not above thirty, you’d guess. There's even a faint aroma of bay rum and talcum about him. His small, neat hands are clean and the nails well-manicured.

His clear blue eyes are surprising in his dark face; they seem to invite trust and confidences. His smile is warm and welcoming. His baritone voice is pleasant and soothing and he has a smooth line of palaver, though he does talk a mite fancy.

His profession is hard to guess – drummer, preacher, gambler? No, my friend, he’s a writer, earning his bread by putting words on paper for the enjoyment of the reading public. Tell him your story and perhaps he’ll make you famous.