It was the Flesh Market, the public mart, to which the frail sisterhood came in droves to sell their beauty. The sirens of Manhattan, lineal descendants of the legendary sisters who, with their songs, lured the ancient mariners to their doom, were there by the hundred, decked out in all the expensive finery that individual taste could suggest and their purses pay for. They were of all types--blonde and brunette, tall and petite, stout and slender--to meet every demand. Mostly young they were; some still in their teens. That was the tragedy of it. Older women had no place there. Fresh arrivals poured in from the Broadway entrance. Everybody appeared to be acquainted with everyone else; familiar greetings were exchanged right and left. "Hello, Jack!" "Howdy, May!" "Sit down here, Grace!" The waiters rushed away to fill orders for more wine, the orchestra struck up another lively air, the whole establishment vibrated with bustle and excitement. The two young men watched the animated scene. To one of them at least, it was all novel and strange, a phase of life to which, heretofore, he had been a stranger. John Madison had seen little of gilded vice in the big cities. Although he had knocked about the world a great deal and taken active part in many a stirring scene he had always been a clean man. Born and bred on a Dakota farm, he was still the typical country boy, big and vigorous in physique, with a sane, wholesome outlook on things. When his mother--a penniless widow--died he was adopted by a tyrannical uncle, a miserly farmer, who made him do chores around the homestead in return for his keep. But the boy detested farming. His young soul yearned for a glimpse of the great outside world, of which he had read and knew nothing, and his desperation grew, until one day he summoned up enough courage to run away. On foot, with nothing to eat, and only an occasional hitch behind a friendly teamster's wagon, he bravely made his way to Bismarck, fifty miles distant where, after nearly starving to death, he enlisted the sympathies of a kindly grocer, who gave him two dollars a week and his board to run errands. This was not much better than what he had escaped from, but John did not care. At least it was the dawn of independence. Industrious and faithful, he was rewarded in due time by promotion and eventually he might have become a partner and married the grocer's daughter, but unfortunately, or fortunately, as may be, his restless spirit made this programme impossible of realization.