The Easiest Way | Page 4

studying law and going into politics,
he attended night schools and lectures and burned the midnight oil
devouring good books. He sent to an enterprising journal of Denver a
vividly written account of his exploit with the train robbers. With the
newspaper's cheque came an offer to join its staff. That was how John

Madison became a reporter, and incidentally explained why, on this
particular evening, he happened to be in New York. Sent East in
connection with a big political story, he had run across an old
acquaintance, Glenn Warner, a young New York lawyer, and accepted
his invitation to theatre and supper.
"I'll take you to a swell joint," he laughed. "It'll amuse you. It's the
swiftest place in town."
In personal appearance, the young attorney presented a sharp contrast
to his stalwart companion. Slight in physique, with sandy hair
scrupulously parted in the middle and nattily dressed, he was of the
conventional type of men colloquially described as "well groomed."
That the restaurant, and its people, were an old story to him, was
apparent by the nods he exchanged and the familiar greeting he gave
the waiter. After he had decided on the order, he proceeded to give
John thumb-nail biographies of some of the most conspicuous of those
present.
"See that fat, coarse-looking hog over there? Look--he's flashing a bank
roll thick enough to choke a horse. That's Berny Bernheim, the
bookmaker. His gambling house on West Forty-fourth Street is one of
the show places of the town. It's raided from time to time, but he
always manages to get off scot free. He has a pull with the police."
Pointing in another direction, where a stately blonde in a big
Gainsborough hat, trimmed with white plumes, sat languidly sipping
champagne in company of a gray-haired man old enough to be her
grandfather, he went on:
"That girl with the white feathers is Lucy Graves. Don't you
remember--five years ago--a Lucy Graves shot and killed a man, and
then hypnotised the jury into acquitting her. That's the girl. Since then
she's been on the stage--a vaudeville act--$1,000 a week they say. A
month ago she was again in trouble with the police--caught playing the
badger game. I don't know who the old chap is--a new 'sucker' I
imagine."

There was a slight commotion at the main entrance as a fat,
bald-headed, red-faced man entered, followed by several women, all
beautifully gowned. Warner, who had caught sight of the party,
whispered sotto voce:
"That's Sam Solomon, the famous criminal lawyer. He's just been
indicted by the Grand Jury. Only a miracle can save him from a long
prison term. He's had a box party at the theatre. He usually has a string
of women after him. That's where his money goes--women and wine.
The girls call him a good thing."
Madison looked amused.
"Where are the respectable folk?" he laughed. "Have all the people here
got a police record?"
"Most all," was the laconic rejoinder. "Hello, Elfie--when did you come
in?"
This last exclamation was addressed to a tall, attractive brunette, who
was just pushing past their table in a crowd. She was young and
vivacious looking, and her voluptuous figure was set off to advantage
in an expensive gown. Evidently she knew the lawyer well, for she
greeted him familiarly:
"Hello, Glenn--I didn't see you."
"Alone?" he asked quickly.
"Yes--for a while," she answered airily.
He made a place for her on the bench.
"Sit down here and have something."
"I don't mind if I do," she smiled amiably.
Slipping past the two men into the seat she looked inquiringly at
Madison. The lawyer made introductions.

"This is a friend of mine--John Madison--Miss Elfie St. Clair."
Jocularly he added: "Well known on the metropolitan stage."
Madison smiled and nodded. The girl eyed him with interest. He was a
type of man not often seen in the gay resorts of Manhattan. Impulsively
she burst out:
"Say, Glenn--your friend's a good looker, do you know it? Better take
care, or he'll cut you out with the girls." Turning to Madison, she
demanded: "From the West?"
He nodded.
"Yes--Denver."
"Seeing New York, eh? Great fun, ain't it?"
He shrugged his massive shoulders and made no reply, finding more
amusement in watching the crowd than in gratifying the curiosity of
this chatterbox. She turned to Warner.
"Got a grouch, ain't he?"
Warner laughed.
"Oh--that's his manner. Don't mind him." Turning the conversation, he
demanded: "What's new?"
The girl glanced all around the restaurant, as she answered:
"Oh, the same old thing! In feather one week--broke the next. You
know how it is."
"I thought you were playing."
"So I was, but the show busted. It was a bully part, and I spent $150 on
dresses. All I got was two weeks' salary. When