“How rough can you get, Chief?” Della asked, stealing a sidelong glance as she added demurely — “with a woman.”
“Plenty,” he told her. “You only see me on my good behavior.”
The cab-driver turned and said, “Where do you want to go?”
“The main stem,” Mason told him,
“You mean Virginia Street?”
“Wherever the night life is thickest.”
The cab-driver said proudly, “There’s life all over this city, brother, twenty-four hours a day. I’ll drive down Virginia once, then turn around and come back, and you can pick the place you want to get out at.”
Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the business district was crowded with people of various descriptions. Cowpunchers in high-heeled boots clump-clumped along the sidewalks. Men in shirt sleeves, without coats or neckties, rubbed elbows with men who might have served for fashion plates. An occasional couple in evening clothes sauntered from doorway to doorway, while women, evidently from ranches, went swinging past with the long, easy strides of those who live in the open.
The driver passed under the arched sign bearing the illuminated legend in blazing letters:
THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD