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 loveliness, in the latest creations of Paris modistes--gowns a duchess might envy, hats that would tempt the virtue of a saint. All were talking loudly, and laughing hilariously as they ate and drank, while pale-faced, perspiring waiters ran here and there with steaming chafing dishes and silver buckets of frozen "wine." Here champagne was king! The frothy, golden, bubbling, hissing stuff seemed to be the only beverage called for. No one counted the cost. Supplied with fat purses, all flung themselves into a reckless orgy of high living and ordered without reckoning. It was the gay rendezvous of the girls and the Johnnies, the sporting men and the roues--in a word, the nightly bacchanal of New York _qui s'amuse_. In the atmosphere, heavily charged with tobacco smoke, floated a strange, indefinable perfume--an odor in which the vulgar smell of cooking struggled for the mastery with the subtle essences used by voluptuous women. Instantly, animalism was aroused, the passions were inflamed. The mouth watered for luscious _mets_ concocted by expensive _chefs_, the eye was dazzled by snowy linen, glistening crystal and the significant smiles of red-lipped wantons, the ear was entranced by the dulcet strains of sensuous music. In short, a dangerous resort for any man, young or old.