himself. There was no limit to his
ambition. With the one idea of 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