er-of-a-mile-long block resulted instantly. The officer,
exasperated beyond endurance, was apoplectic in the face from the too
sudden strain upon his temper. Starting angrily forward he seemed as if
about to carry out his threat, and the effect of this was magic. The
offending cabbies quickly disentangled themselves, and once more the
long string of vehicles began to move. Women screamed shrilly, as with
their escorts they dodged the horses' hoofs, the trolleys clanged their
gongs, electric-signs blinked their pictorial designs, noisy boys
yelled hoarsely "final extras!" The din was nerve racking. One had to
shout to be heard, yet no one seemed to object. Everybody was happy.
New York was merely enjoying itself.

The rush was at its height, when two young men, perhaps weary of being
buffeted by the throngs that still pushed up Broadway, turned sharply
to the right and entered a fashionable all-night cafe. Halting for a
moment in the richly-carpeted and mirrored vestibule to divest
themselves of their outer garments, they pocketed the brass checks
handed out by a dapper page and passing on into the restaurant, quietly
took seats in an out-of-the-way corner.

The place was already well filled. Nearly all of the small, round
tables, crowded too close for comfort, were taken, and the loud chatter
of men and women, the handling of dishes, the going and coming of
waiters, the more or less labored efforts of a _tzigane_ orchestra--all
this made a hubbub as loud as that in the busy street without. The
people eating and drinking were of the kind usually to be found in
Broadway's pleasure resorts--rich men-about-town spending their money
freely, hard-faced, square-jawed gamblers touting for business, callow
youths having their first fling in metropolitan vice, motor-car parties
taking in the sights, old roues seeking new sensations, faultlessly
dressed wine agents promoting the sale of their particular brands, a
few actors, a sprinkling of actresses of secondary importance, a bevy
of chorus girls of the "broiler" type, a number of self-styled "grass
widows" living quietly, but luxuriously on the generosity of discreet
male admirers, and others still prettier, who made no secret of their
calling, but insolently boasted of their profession being the most
ancient in the world.

Sartorially at least, the company was eminently respectable. The men,
for the most part, wore evening dress and the women were visions of
feminine lovelin