The Easiest Way | Page 4

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 the dresses will be paid for, the Lord only knows."
Elfie St. Clair was a typical Tenderloin grafter. A woman absolutely devoid of moral conscience, she styled herself an actress, yet was one only by courtesy. By dint of pulling all kinds of wires she contrived from time to time to get a part to play, but her stage activities were really only a blind to conceal her true vocation. A cold-blooded courtesan of the most brazen and unscrupulous