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  II

  Ike Weber was waiting for them in the foyer of the Chateau de la Reine.During the brief taxi-ride up Broadway to the cabaret, Clancy had timeto suffer reaction from the momentary daring that had led her toacceptance of Fay's invitation. It was this very sort of thing againstwhich young girls were warned by pulpit and press! She stole a searchingglance at her companion's large-featured face and was reassured. Vulgar,Fay Marston might be--but vicious? "No," she decided.

  And Weber's pleasant greeting served to allay any lingering fears. Agood-natured, shrewd-eyed man, with uneven and slightly stained teeth,his expensive-seeming dinner jacket of dark-gray cloth, his dark,shining studs--Clancy could not tell of what jewels they were made--andhis whole well-fed air seemed to reek of money. He waved a fat hand atFay and immediately came toward them.

  "You're late, Fay," he announced.

  "But look what made me late!" laughed the blonde girl.

  Weber bowed to Clancy with an exaggerated gallantry which he had pickedup by much attendance at the theater.

  "You're forgiven, Fay."

  "Florine, meet Mr. Weber," pronounced Fay. "Miss--Miss--kid, I forgetyour name."

  "'Florine' will do," said Weber. "It's a bear of a name. Call me 'Ike,'girlie."

  He took Clancy's hand between his two fat palms and pressed it. Hegrinned at Fay.

  "I'll let you do all my picking after this, Fay. Come on; check yourthings."

  Up a heavily carpeted stairway he forced a path for them. Clancy wouldhave lingered. Pushing against her were women dressed as she had neverexpected to see them dressed. There were necklaces of pearls anddiamonds, coats of sable and chinchilla, gowns that even herinexperience knew cost in the hundreds, perhaps the thousands.

  In the dressing-room, where she surrendered her plain cloth coat of acheap dark-blue material to the maid, she voiced something of heramazement to Fay. The blond girl laughed.

  "You'll have all they got, kid, if you take your time. At that, thereisn't one of them wouldn't give all her rags for that skin of yours. Didyou notice Ike's eyes? Like a cat lookin' at a plate of cream. You'lldo, kid. If Ike Weber likes your looks--and he does--you should worryabout fur coats."

  "Who is he?" demanded Clancy.

  "Broker," said Fay. "With a leanin' to the stage. They say he's gotmoney in half a dozen shows. I dunno about that, but he's a regularfeller. Nothin' fresh about Ike. Don't worry, Florine."

  Clancy smiled tremulously. She wasn't worried about the possible"freshness" of a hundred Webers. She was worrying about her clothes. Butas they entered the dining-room and were escorted by a deferential_maitre d'hotel_ to a long, flower-laden table at one side, next thedancing-space, worry left her. Her shoulders straightened and her headpoised confidently. For Clancy had an artistic eye. She knew that asingle daisy in a simple vase will sometimes attract great attention ina conservatory filled with exotic blooms. She felt that she was thatdaisy to-night.

  In somewhat of a daze, she let herself be presented to a dozen men andwomen, without catching a single name, and then sank into a chair besideWeber. He was busy talking at the moment to a petite brown-hairedbeauty, and Clancy was free to look about her. It was a gorgeous room,with a queer Japanesque effect to the ceiling, obtained by draperiesthat were, as Clancy phrased it to herself, "accordion-plaited." At thefar end of the dancing-space was a broad flight of stairs that led to asort of curtained balcony, or stage.

  But it was the people at her own table who interested Clancy. Thecomplete absence of formality that had marked their entrance--Weber hadpermitted them, after his escort to the dressing-room, to find their ownway to the table--continued now. One gathered from the conversation thatwas bandied back and forth that these were the most intimate of friends,separated for years and now come together again.

  A woman from another table, with a squeal of delight, rose, and,crossing over, spoke to the brown-haired girl. They kissed each otherecstatically, exchanged half a dozen sentences, and then the visitorretired. Clancy heard Weber ask the visitor's name.

  "Hanged if I know! I seem to remember her faintly," said thebrown-haired one.

  Weber turned to Clancy.

  "Get that?" he chuckled. "It's a great lane--Broadway. It ain't a placewhere you are _acquainted_ with people; you love 'em."

  "Or hate 'em?" suggested Clancy.

  Weber beamed upon her.

  "Don't tell me that you're clever as well as a bear for looks, Florine!If you do, I'll be just bowled over completely."

  Clancy shrugged.

  "Was that clever?"

  Weber chuckled.

  "If you listen to the line of talk around this table--how I knocked 'emfor a goal in Philly, and how Branwyn's been after me for seven monthsto get me to sign a contract, and how Bruce Fairchild got a company ofhis own because he was jealous of the way I was stealing the film fromhim--after a little of that, anything sounds clever. Dance, Florine?"

  Back in Zenith, Ike Weber, even if he'd been the biggest business man intown, would have hesitated to ask Clancy Deane so casually to dance withhim. The Deanes were real people in Zenith, even though they'd never hadmuch money. But great-grandfather Deane had seen service in '47 inMexico, had been wounded at the storming of Chapultepec; and grandfatherClancy had been Phil Sheridan's aide. That sort of thing mattered awhole lot in Zenith, even to-day.

  But Clancy had come to New York, to Broadway, with no snobbery. All herglorious ancestry hadn't prevented her from feeling mighty lucky whenMr. Frank Miller made her his stenographer. She'd come to New York, toBroadway, to make a success, to lift herself forever beyond the Mr.Frank Millers and their factories. So it was not disinclination toletting Ike Weber's arm encircle her that made Clancy hesitate. Shelaughed, as he said,

  "Maybe you think, because I'm a little fat, that I can't shake a nastytoe, Florine?"

  "I--I'm awfully hungry," she confessed. "And--what are these things?"

  She looked down at the plate before her, on which were placed almost adozen varieties of edibles, most of them unfamiliar.

  Weber laughed.

  "Florine, I _like_ you!" he declared. "Why, I don't believe you knowwhat a four-flusher is. This your first Broadway party?"

  "I never saw New York until this afternoon," she confessed.

  Weber eyed her closely.

  "How'd you meet Fay?"

  Clancy told him, told him all about the little legacy from the West, thebreaking of the home ties. She mentioned that she had a card ofintroduction to an agent.

  "Well, that'll help--maybe," said Weber. "But it don't matter. You giveme a ring to-morrow afternoon, and I'll make a date with you. I knowabout everybody in the picture game worth knowing, and I'll start youoff right."

  "You're awfully good," she told him.

  Weber smiled; Clancy noted, for the first time, that the merry eyes deepset in flesh, could be very hard.

  "Maybe I am, and maybe I ain't. Anyway, you ring me--those are _horsd'oeuvres_, Florine. Anchovy, _salami_--try 'em."

  Clancy did, and enjoyed them. Also, she liked the soup, which Weberinformed her was turtle, and the fish, a filet of sole. After that, shedanced with her mentor.

  They returned to the table and Weber promptly began singing her praises.Thereafter, in quick succession, she danced with several men, among themZenda, a mop-haired man with large, dreamy eyes, who informed hercasually that he was giving the party. It was to celebrate, he said, thereleasing of his twenty-fifth film.

  "You a friend of the big blond girl that you came in with?" he asked.

  "Why, she invited me!" cried Clancy. "Miss Marston--don't you know her?"

  Zenda grinned.

  "Oh, yes; I know her. But I didn't know she was coming to-night. Mypress-agent told me that I ought to give a party. He invited every onehe could think of. Forty accepted, and about a dozen and a half arehere. But that doesn't matter. I get the publicity just the same. Know'em? I know every one. I ought to. I'm one of the biggest men in thefilms. Listen to me tell you abo
ut it," he chuckled. "Florine, you surecan dance." Like the rest, he called her by her first name.

  She was blushing with pride as he took her back to the table. But, toher piqued surprise, Zenda promptly forgot all about her. However herpique didn't last long. At about the salad course, the huge curtain atthe top of the wide staircase parted, and the cabaret began. Forforty-five minutes it lasted, and Clancy was thrilled at itselaborateness.

  At its end, the dinner had been eaten, and the party began to break up.Zenda came over to Weber.

  "Feel like a game?" he asked.

  "You know me," said Weber.

  Ensued a whispered colloquy between five of the men. Then came many loudfarewells and the making of many engagements. Clancy felt distinctly outof it. Weber, who wished her to telephone him to-morrow, seemed toforget her existence. So even did Fay, who moved toward thedressing-room. Feeling oddly neglected, Clancy followed her.

  "What you doin' the rest of the evenin'?" asked Fay, as she was beinghelped into her coat.

  "Why--I--nothing," said Clancy.

  "Of course not!" Fay laughed. "I wasn't thinkin'. Want to come alongwith me?"

  "Where are you going?" demanded Clancy cautiously. She'd heard a lotabout the wickedness of New York, and to-night she had attended adinner-party where actresses and picture-directors and backers of showsgathered. And it had been about as wicked as a church sociable inZenith.

  "Oh, Zenda and Ike and a few of the others are goin' up to Zenda'sapartment. They play stud."

  "'Stud?'" asked Clancy.

  "Poker. They play the steepest game you ever saw, kid. Still, that'd beeasy, you not havin' seen any game at all, wouldn't it? Want to come?"

  "To Mr. Zenda's apartment?" Clancy was distinctly shocked.

  "Well, why not?" Fay guffawed. "Why, you poor little simp, MabelLarkin'll be there, won't she?" Clancy's expression indicatedbewilderment. "Gosh! Didn't you meet her? She sat at Weber's left allevening. She's Zenda's wife."

  Clancy demurred no longer. She was helped into her coat, that seemed tohave grown shrinkingly forlorn, and descended to the foyer with Fay.There Weber met them, and expressed delight that Clancy was to continuewith the party.

  "You'll bring me luck, Florine," he declared.

  He ushered them into his own limousine, and sat in the rear seat betweenthe two girls. But he addressed no words to Clancy. In an undertone, heconversed with Fay. Clancy grew slightly nervous. But the nervousnessvanished as they descended from the car before a garish apartment-house.A question to Fay brought the information that they were on Park Avenue.

  They alighted from the elevator at the seventh floor. The Zendas andfive other people--two of whom were girls--had arrived before them, andwere already grouped about a table in a huge living-room. Zenda was inhis shirt-sleeves, sorting out chips from a mahogany case. Cigar smokemade the air blue. A colored man, in livery--a most ornate livery, whosemain color was lemon, lending a sickly shade to his ebony skin--wasdecanting liquor.

  No one paid any attention to Clancy. The same casualness that had servedto put her at her ease at the Chateau de la Reine had the same effectnow. She strolled round the room. She knew nothing of art, had neverseen an original masterpiece. But once, in the Zenith Public Library,she had spent a rainy afternoon poring over a huge volume that containedcopies of the world's most famous paintings. One of them was on theZenda living-room wall. Fay, lighting a cigarette, heard herexclamation of surprise. She joined her.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  Clancy pointed at the picture.

  "A Landseer," she said, breathlessly. "Of course, though, it's a copy."

  "Copy nothin'," said Fay indignantly. "Zenda bought it for thepublicity. Paid sixty-seven thousand for it."

  Clancy gasped. Fay smiled indulgently.

  "Sure. He makes about six hundred thousand a year. And his wife makesthree thousand a week whenever she needs a little pocket-money."

  "Not really?"

  "Oh, it's true, all right. Why, Penniman, there, the little gray-hairedman--he was an electrician in a Broadway theater five years ago. Griffinused him for some lighting effects in one of his films. Now he doesnothin' _but_ plan lighting effects for his features, and he gets twothousand a week. Grannis, that man shufflin' the cards"--and she pointedto a tall, sallow-faced man--"was press-agent for another theater fouryears ago. He's half-owner of the Zenda films to-day. Makes a quarter ofa million or so every year. Of course, Zenda gets most of it. Lallo, theman drinkin' the Scotch, was a bankrupt eighteen months ago. He got someWall Street money behind him, and now he owns a big bit of the stock ofthe Lallo Exchange, a big releasing organization. Worth a couple ofmillion, easy. Oh, yes; that Landseer is the real thing. 'Sh. Come overand watch 'em play, kid."

  Weber reached out his fat hand as Clancy came near. He patted her arm.

  "Stay near me, and bring me luck, Florine."

  The game had begun. It was different from any game that Clancy had everseen. She watched eagerly. Zenda dealt five cards, one to each player,face down. Then he dealt five more, face up.

  "You're high," he said to Weber. Clancy noted that Weber's exposed cardwas a king.

  "I'll bet one berry," said Weber. He tossed a white chip toward thecenter of the table.

  "How much is that?" whispered Clancy.

  Weber laughed.

  "A berry, Florine, is a buck, a seed--a dollar."

  "Oh!" said Clancy. Vaguely she felt admonished.

  Grannis sat next to Weber. He gingerly lifted the edge of the first carddealt to him and peeked at it. Then he eyed the eight of diamonds thatlay face up before him.

  "We are here," he announced jovially, "for one purpose--to get the kalein the middle of the table. I see your miserable berry, Ike, and on topof it you will notice that I place four red chips, red being the colorof my heart."

  Penniman immediately turned over his exposed card.

  "I wouldn't like to win the first pot," he said. "It's unlucky."

  "How the lads do hate to admit the tingle of yellow!" Weber jeered.

  Lallo studied the jack before him.

  "Just to prove," he said, "that I am neither superstitious nor yellow,I'll see your two hundred, Grannis."

  "I feel the way you do, Lallo," said Zenda. He put five chips, four redand one white, in the middle of the table.

  Weber squeezed Florine's hand.

  "Breathe luck in my ear, kid," he whispered. Then, louder, he said:"Fooled you with that little berry bet, eh? Well, suckers, we're herefor one purpose." He patted the king that lay face up before him withhis fat hand. "Did your royal highness think I didn't show the properrespect to your high rank? Well, I was just teasing the boys along. Makeit an even five hundred," he said briskly. He pushed four red and threeblue chips toward the little pile.

  Clancy did some quick figuring. The blue chips must be worth one hundreddollars apiece. It was incredible, ghastly, but--fascinating. Grannisstared at Weber.

  "I think you mean it, Ike," he said gently. "But--so do I--I'm withyou."

  Lallo turned over his exposed card. With mock reproach, he said:

  "Why, I thought you fellows were playing. Now that I see you're in_earnest_----" He winked merrily at Clancy.

  Zenda chuckled.

  "Didn't know we were playing for keeps, eh, Lal? Well, nobody deceivedme. I'm with you, Ike."

  He put in his chips and dealt again. When, finally, five cards had beengiven each remaining player, Grannis had two eights, an ace and a kingshowing. Weber dropped out on the last card but Zenda called Grannis'bet of seven hundred and fifty dollars. Grannis turned over his "buried"card. He had another king, and his two pair beat Zenda's pair of aces.And Grannis drew in the chips.

  Clancy had kept count of the money. Forty-five hundred dollars in redand blue chips, and four dollars in whites. It--it was criminal!

  The game now became more silent. Sitting in a big armchair, dreamilywondering what the morrow and her card to Morris Beiner would bringforth, Clancy was s
uddenly conscious of a harsh voice. She turned andsaw pretty Mabel Larkin, Zenda's wife, staring at Weber. Her eyes wereglaring.

  "I tell you, Zenda," she was saying, "he cheats. I've been telling youso for weeks. Now I can prove it."

  Clancy stared at Weber. His fat face seemed suddenly to have grown thin.

  "Your wife had _better_ prove it, Zenda," he snarled.

  "She'll prove it if she says she will!" cried Zenda. "We've been layingfor you, Weber. Mabel, what did he do?"

  His wife answered, never taking her eyes from Weber.

  "He 'made' the cards for Penniman's next deal. He put two aces so thathe'd get them. Deal them, Mr. Penniman, and deal the first card face up.Weber will get the ace of diamonds on the first round and the ace ofclubs on the second."

  Penniman picked up the deck of cards. For a moment, he hesitated. ThenWeber's fat hand shot across the table and tore the cards fromPenniman's grasp. There was a momentary silence. Then Zenda's voice,sharp, icy, cut the air.

  "Weber, that's confession. You're a crook! You've made over a hundredthousand in this game in the last six months. By God, you'llsettle----"

  Weber's fat fist crashed into Zenda's face, and the dreamy-eyed directorfell to the floor. Clancy leaped to her feet. She saw Grannis swing achair above her head, and then, incontinently, as Zenda's wife screamed,Clancy fled from the room. She found her coat and put it on. Withtrembling fingers she opened the door into the corridor and reached theelevator. She rang the bell.

  It seemed hours before the lift arrived. She had no physical fear; itwas the fear of scandal. If the folks back home in Zenith should readher name in the papers as one of the participants, or spectators, even,in a filthy brawl like this, she could never hold her head up again. Forthree hours she had been of Broadway; now, suddenly, she was of Zenith.

  "Taxi, miss?" asked the polite door-man down-stairs.

  She shook her head. At any moment they might miss her up-stairs. She hadno idea what might or might not happen.

  A block down the street, she discovered that not wearing a hat renderedher conspicuous. A small closed car passed her. Clancy did not yet knowthat two-passenger cars are never taxis. She hailed the driver. He drewin to the curb.

  "Please take me to the Napoli," she begged. "Near Times Square."

  The driver stared at her. Then he touched his hat.

  "Certainly," he said courteously.

  Then Clancy drew back.

  "Oh, I thought you were a taxi-man!"

  "Well, I can at least take you home," smiled the driver.

  She looked at him. They were near an arc-light, and he looked honest,clean. He was big, too.

  "Will you?" she asked.

  She entered the car. Not a word did either of them speak until hestopped before the Napoli. Then, hesitantly, diffidently, he said,

  "I suppose you'd think me pretty fresh if--if I asked your name."

  She eyed him.

  "No," she said slowly. "But I wouldn't tell it to you."

  He accepted the rebuke smilingly.

  "All right. But I'll see you again, sometime. And so you'll know who itis--my name's Randall, David Randall. Good-night." She flushed at hissmiling confidence. She forgot to thank him as she ran up the stairsinto the Napoli.

  Safe in her room, the door locked, she sat down on the window-seat andbegan to search out her plan of action. Little by little, she began tosee that she had no plan of action to find. Accidentally she had beenpresent when a scandalous charge was made. She knew nothing of it, wasacquainted with none of the participants. Still, she was glad that shehad run away. Heaven alone knew what had happened. Suddenly she began toweep. The conquering of Broadway, that had seemed so simple anachievement a few hours ago, now, oddly, seemed a remote, an impossiblehappening.

  Some one knocked on her door. Startled, afraid, she made no answer. Thedoor shook as some one tried the knob. Then Fay's voice sounded throughthe thin partition.

  "Hey, Florine! You home?"

  Clancy opened the door reluctantly. Fay burst into the room. Her blondhair had become string-seeming. Her make-up was streaked withperspiration.

  "Kid, you're a wise one," she said. "You blew. Gosh, what a jam!"

  She sank down in a chair and mopped her large face.

  "What happened?" demanded Clancy.

  "'_Happened?_' Hell broke loose."

  "The police?" asked Clancy, shivering.

  "Lord, no! But they beat Weber up, and he smashed Zenda's nose. I toldIke that he was a sucker to keep tryin' it forever. I knew they'd gethim. Now----" She stopped abruptly. "Forget anything you hear me beefabout, Florine," she advised harshly. "Say, none of them got your name,did they? Your address?"

  "Why?"

  "Because Zenda swears he's goin' to have Ike arrested. Fine chance,though. Ike and I are leavin' town----"

  "You?"

  The blond girl laughed harshly.

  "Sure. We been married for six months. That's why I said you weren't inno danger comin' along with me. I'm a married woman, though nobody knowsit. But for that Larkin dame, we'd been gettin' away with it for yearsto come. Cat! She's clever. Well, kid, I tried to get you off to a goodstart, but my luck went blooey at the wrong moment. Night-night,Florine! Ike and I are goin' to grab the midnight to Boston. Well, youdidn't bring Ike much luck, but that don't matter. New York is throughwith us for a while. But we should worry. Be good, kid!"

  She left the room without another word. Through the thin wall, Clancycould hear her dragging a trunk around, opening bureau drawers. Thismost amazing town--where scandal broke suddenly, like a tornado,uprooting lives, careers! And how cynically Fay Marston took it!

  Suddenly she began to see her own position. She'd been introduced as afriend of Weber's. _She_ couldn't discover a six-months-old husband andleave town casually. _She_ must stay here, meet the Zendas, perhaps workfor them---- On this, her first night in New York, Clancy cried herselfto sleep.

  And, like most of the tears that are shed in this sometimesfutile-seeming world, Clancy's were unnecessary. Only one of her vastinexperience would have fled from Zenda's apartment. A sophisticatedperson would have known that a simple explanation of her briefacquaintance with Fay would have cleared her. But youth lacksperspective. The tragedy of the moment looms fearsomely large. For allits rashness, youth is ostrichlike. It thinks that refusal to see dangereliminates danger. It thinks that departure has the same meaning as end.It does not know that nothing is ever finished, that each apparentlyisolated event is part of another apparently isolated event, and that nohuman action can separate the twain. But it is youth's privilege tothink itself godlike. Clancy had fled. Reaction had brought tears,appreciation of her position.