Cradlebaugh's,--Cradlebaugh's house of a thousand chances,--rearing its
four stories of brown stone, spreading itself out liberally on the north
side of one of the side streets which is fast being given over to
fashionable clubs and restaurants, is a thoroughly up-to-date
establishment. Here, the _jeunesse dore_ of the city are made
welcome--once the critical eye of the sentinel behind the triple steel
doors at the top of the brown stone steps has recognised in them the
essential qualifications. In appointments, the house is luxurious and
gorgeous, and is so closely shuttered that not a ray of light from
outside is permitted to penetrate it: Cradlebaugh's day and night, night
and day, is lit within by the glow of artificial lights; the sunlight
has no chance in Cradlebaugh's. In addition to the main hall of play,
there are accommodations for parties wishing to indulge in quiet games
among themselves. Meals are served at all hours,--supper being the
specialty of the house,--and notwithstanding that no charge whatever is
made for them, the cuisine and service are beyond reproach. It can truly
be said of Cradlebaugh's, that it has all the cheerfulness of the
hearth, the quiet of the sanctuary, mingled with the glare of
irresistible recklessness.
It was to this establishment, then, that Challoner directed a cabby to
take him after hours of unsuccessful attempts to borrow money from his
friends--unsuccessful, because they had come to know his
irresponsibility, and to realise that his obligations were not the
obligations of his wife. The consequence was that man after man invented
an excuse or refused him emphatically. And finally, in desperation, he
had offered to sell the Mastodon. But the dealers knew who owned the
car--one of the handsomest cars in town--and on Challoner disgustedly
ordering his chauffeur home, a dealer more daring than the others had
said to him with aggressive familiarity:--
"Get your wife's bill of sale, Challoner we'll buy it then, all right."
A spark of anger immediately lit up Challoner's eyes, resentment was
deep down in his inmost soul; but his brain had been absinthiated for
days, his sensibilities blunted, and indignities fell from him like the
proverbial water from a duck's back. Nor was it solely with his
mentalities that the dissipations of the last five years had played
havoc: his face, his body, were unnaturally thin, and his glance had
become fixed and strained. Nevertheless, over-indulgence had not
grossened him, he was still good-looking, and there was an air about him
that few men had. In all his recklessness, whenever he wanted money he
had not forgotten that fact. It had always counted with Miriam--until
now. It counted still with Miss Letty Love of the Frivolity!
There had been moments, it is true, when rushing madly about town for
funds, that he had felt it would surely have been better for him if he
had never gone to Cradlebaugh's; but then like a flash would come the
thought that if he had not gone to Cradlebaugh's he would never have
known Letty Love! And by no means had he arrived at the state where he
could have wished that ...
With the thought of Letty Love there came another indissolubly connected
with it: Was Colonel Hargraves slowly undermining, ousting him out of
her affections? Not without reason he argued that Colonel Hargraves had
plenty of money, and the man with money was going to win out in the
graces of the Frivolity actress! Challoner could see it, could feel it,
and now in this crisis he could not raise a paltry thousand or two ...