In a back room of a place just off Broadway sat a good-looking brunette—you will notice all these girls of mine are good looking—and three young fellows of the kind known to the police as “cadets.” There was nothing unusual about this room except that it was better furnished than you would have expected, and it had expensive oil paintings on the walls. Besides, it was carpeted. All this would mean higher-priced drinks if not a better service.

It was a drinking place where women might come with their escorts and feel reasonably safe from intrusion, and midnight was its busiest hour. Just now was the calm which precedes the storm, and there were not enough guests to induce the waiters to cease their gossiping and loafing in the big room outside.

The woman who sat there at the little round table was a common type; you can see her like wherever you go, especially at night. When the sun has gone down and the lights are bright, she flutters out of some cave-like dwelling like a new kind of butterfly, with the instincts of the moth, in that she flutters only at night, and in her veins runs the blood of a hunter, for she is ever on the trail.

This one is pretty in a negative sort of way. Her features are regular, her teeth are white and strong, and her eyes are bright and have expression, but if you will look close you will notice a hard glance there. It is neither merciful nor kind.

She has emotions, but they are hardly worth considering, for they are of the baser sort.

She has nerve, daring, courage and calmness, and because her life has been a constant warfare she fears nothing. She may dread the touch of a policeman’s hand and the command to “Come on,” but she doesn’t fear it. There is a difference, you know, between the words of fear and dread.

It is unfortunate that she was born to be what she is.

Her first adventure in life was when she became infatuated with the glitter of the arena, and with a girl companion of her own age took up with a couple of clowns attached to a circus. But she soon found the difference between the dressing tents and reserved seats and headed for the nearest big city.

“There ain’t a case note among the four of us,” remarks one of the men. “I think we’re a bunch of shines. The first thing you know we’ll have to go out and look for jobs.”

The girl was drumming idly on the table with her fingers.

“You’re the strongest one of the lot, what’s the matter with you making a start?” said another to the one who had just spoken.

“I’d look nice getting up with the milk wagons, wouldn’t I?”

The girl stopped her drumming and glanced up.

“You can leave me out of all this argument,” she remarked, “for I don’t figure. No more Broadway for mine after ten o’clock to-night, and it’s a case of good-by for you, too, Jack.” “I suppose that’s another one of your funny jokes,” said Jack, “but I don’t like those kind of stories, so you can cut it out.”

“No funny story about it at all,” she went on, in that even, monotonous way which is particularly aggravating. “I’m tired of this way of living, and I’m tired of being a coaling station, and I know when I got enough.”

“Where are you going?”

She had resumed her drumming and paid no attention.

“Who are you going with?”

“That’s none of your damned business.”

He leaned forward and taking her by the wrist gave her a vicious pull toward him.

“I suppose it’s that guy from the country?”

“Well, what if it is?” she said defiantly, and then, as if she had suddenly made up her mind, she went on, talking rapidly, as a woman will do when she is under a nervous strain:

“He’s going to do what you never thought of doing—he’s going to marry me and make me decent—if it ain’t too late. He’s going to meet me here at ten o’clock and we’re going to jump to the Coast. He’s got the coin, for he’s sold out his farm. He’s going to take me out there, and he says we are going to begin all over again; that I’ll have a good chance, for nobody will know where I came from. What do I get here? Nothing. If I’m sick I can go to the hospital or die in my room like a rat in a garret. I haven’t a friend in the world who would do anything for me on the level and for pure friendship’s sake. If I was to grow old to-morrow, I couldn’t get enough to buy a cup of coffee, and of all the good fellows I know there is only one who would walk across the street to do anything for me just because he liked me. You’re broke now, and you are wondering how you are going to get money, but you know down in your heart that you’re expecting me to get it for you. You’ve got a long wait, for I’ll not get it. I’m through, and that settles it.”

“So you’ve been meeting this fellow on the quiet, have you?” asked the one who was called Jack.

“No, I haven’t seen him for five years.”

“Don’t think you can kid me; how have you been framing things up then if you haven’t been meeting him?”

She gazed at him steadily for a moment as if she were shaping her course, and then she said:

“Well, I’ll just put you right for once. I suppose you’ve heard of the mail. Well, I’ve been getting letters from him, and here,” pulling one from a little handbag she carried, “is the last one.”

With a quick, deft movement he snatched it from her hand and opened it. At the first line he laughed loudly.

“He’s nutty, all right—he must have it bad. Listen to him:”

He began to read.

My Dear Little Girl:—I have just received your letter, and the world looks different to me already. I don’t want you to tell me any more about yourself, for I don’t want to know any more. We have nothing to do with the past now, it is only the future which concerns us and that will be what we make it. I have sold the old farm, so we have $12,000 to start with, and I shall be in New York at the place you suggest and on time to the minute, so you can look for me. Don’t bother about baggage or any of your personal belongings, for all we will want is a minister. After that we can talk things over. I hate to leave the old place, but it makes no difference now that I’m going to have you.

Yours always, Joe.

He handed the letter back to her.

“Little girl, you’re all right after all, ain’t she, fellows? Landed a guy with $12,000 in cold coin, and he’ll have the goods on him, too, I suppose. We won’t do a thing but take that bank roll away and send him back to the farm again.”

Then he turned to the girl.

“How’s the best way to do it? Give him the peter? Maybe it will be best to take him up to the room and wait till he gets asleep. It’s your job, Maude, so we’ll do as you say. It’s only nine o’clock, and we’ve got an hour yet to frame it up.”

She was looking at him with horror in her face.

“You’re wrong,” she cried, “he’s not to be trimmed. He’s going to marry me and we are going away. There’s no job about this, and I want you to leave him alone.”

“We’ll leave him alone all right, and when you see the new front on me to-morrow you’ll think I own Broadway. Twelve thousand dollars, why, the four of us can go to Europe on that.”

Then she stood up.

“If you touch him or try to turn him off I’ll call in a cop and have you all pinched,” and she swept her hand at them with an inclusive movement. “Don’t go off your nut like that, everything will be all right,” said Jack. “You’ll get your bit, no matter what happens, but you’re talking like a crazy woman. You never used to be like this. You’ve been in tougher jobs before. You just think you’re stuck on this Joe because he writes you a nice letter, but there’s nothing to it. You stick to me and I’ll stick to you, and this bundle will put us on Easy Street. Why don’t you be nice?”

She had partly turned her back on them and was looking at one of the pictures on the wall.

It is when a woman is silent that she is most dangerous, because then she is thinking. Give a woman time to think and you are simply supplying her with ammunition. But the stupid man who had dominated by brute force knew nothing of this. To him her silence meant acquiescence, and he scented an easy victory.

With a quick, alert nod of his head he motioned the other two from the room, and they left silently and like automatons, their feet on the carpet giving forth no sound, but her senses were keen and she knew when they had gone. As the door closed behind them she turned around with a smile on her face.

“I think,” she said, “that you will be a fool as long as you live. Here I find a man with a big roll, and arrange to have him bring it to us on a gold plate and you turn around, make me give my hand away, and declare those two dead ones in on the play. You’ll never have sense if you live to be a hundred years old.”

He looked at her admiringly.

“You’re better than I thought,” he said at last. “We’ll jump to Europe on this. Wait ’till I get a paper and see if there is a ship sailing to-morrow morning. We’ll make a quick getaway from the whole crowd.”

He almost ran through the door in his eagerness.

He was back in a few moments with a newspaper in his hand. Eagerly he scanned the columns devoted to shipping news.

“Good,” he ejaculated, “there’s one goes to France. Sails at nine o’clock. We’ll head for Paris—there’s the place to buy your clothes; swell, too, and cheap; and we won’t take anything with us, we’ll buy it all there.”

“Get down to cases,” she said sharply. “How are you going to do this?”

“I’ve got the peter drops,” he said, putting his hand to his pocket. “That’ll be the easiest way. We’ll just dope him a bit, grab the money, get out quick, and lay low somewhere until to-morrow.”

“You know best,” she said, but her voice had a strained tone in it that escaped him. “But whatever you do, whenever I give you any kind of a tip take it quick, see.”

Even as she spoke the door was pushed open and a well-built, brown-faced young fellow strode in, looked around, paused irresolutely, and then went toward her with a smile on his face and his hand outstretched.

“You see, I’m on time, Maude,” he said.

“Yes, Joe, and I’ve been waiting for you a long while. This is a friend of mine who has been very good to me, and I want you to know him. His name is Jack. That’s been enough for me and I guess it will be enough for you.”

“Let’s have one drink, and then I’ll have to be getting along,” said Jack, briskly.

The other didn’t drink, but the coaxing of the girl made him almost forget his name, and three glasses of whiskey were ordered from the man who came at the summons of the bell.

They were about to drink when she suddenly exclaimed:

“Oh, Joe, here’s a picture that always makes me think of the old days; see, that one with the lake,” and as Joe looked the other man deftly poured the dose into the waiting glass. She saw it done and nodded her approval, and then, while they were still talking about the picture, she asked Jack to get her a pencil so she could write a note. In little affairs of this kind strict obedience to an order is absolutely necessary, so he did not question her, but went at once.

When he returned they were sitting at the table again.

“Now for our last drink together,” she remarked gayly, “and here’s that we may all be happy,” and she looked at Jack.

And so they drank, and then Jack set himself to watching furtively out of the corner of his eye this man with the money. He fell to wondering just where it was, and turned cold at the thought that it might have been left at some place for safe keeping. Once his eyes closed and he opened them with an effort. The girl said something, and it took him some little time before his brain could figure out what he ought to say in reply, and longer still for his lips to form the words. She was talking rapidly, but her voice seemed a great distance away.

“Come on, Joe,” he heard that all right. “Come on, it’s time we were going. We must hurry.”

It didn’t seem at all strange to him that they should want to hurry; in fact, it seemed quite natural. “If he’s a friend of yours we ought not to leave him here like that.” That was the man’s voice, he could swear to that.

“Come on,” she said again, and for hours afterward it was as if the world was filled with women shouting “come on, come on,” to tall, athletic young fellows with blue eyes and brown faces, and the incessant murmur of it all made his head ache.

Then he was being violently handled by someone who appeared to be intent upon annoying him and causing his head to hurt still worse.

He was slapped and walked, and a strange, queer liquid was being forced between his teeth.

Then he opened his eyes.

“You’re all right now, I guess,” said a man’s unfamiliar voice.

“What’s the matter?” he asked thickly.

“Nothing much, only you’ve been drugged and your heart came near quitting. Lie down now and rest up a bit and you’ll be all right after a while.”

“Where the devil am I?” he asked, after the manner of the abducted girl in the society drama.

“You’re in the hospital—you ought to be glad you’re alive.”