«And what did you think of our little town?» asked Zizzbaum, with the fatuous smile of the Manhattanite.
«I shouldn't care to live in it,» said the Texan. «Your son and I knocked around quite a little last night. You've got good water, but Cactus City is better lit up.»
«We've got a few lights on Broadway, don't you think, Mr. Platt?»
«And a good many shadows,» said Platt. «I think I like your horses best. I haven't seen a crow–bait since I've been in town.»
Zizzbaum led him up stairs to show the samples of suits.
«Ask Miss Asher to come,» he said to a clerk.
Miss Asher came, and Platt, of Navarro & Platt, felt for the first time the wonderful bright light of romance and glory descend upon him. He stood still as a granite cliff above the cañon of the Colorado, with his wide–open eyes fixed upon her. She noticed his look and flushed a little, which was contrary to her custom.
Miss Asher was the crack model of Zizzbaum & Son. She was of the blond type known as «medium,» and her measurements even went the required 38–25–42 standard a little better. She had been at Zizzbaum's two years, and knew her business. Her eye was bright, but cool; and had she chosen to match her gaze against the optic of the famed basilisk, that fabulous monster's gaze would have wavered and softened first. Incidentally, she knew buyers.
«Now, Mr. Platt,» said Zizzbaum, «I want you to see these princess gowns in the light shades. They will be the thing in your climate. This first, if you please, Miss Asher.»
Swiftly in and out of the dressing–room the prize model flew, each time wearing a new costume and looking more stunning with every change. She posed with absolute self–possession before the stricken buyer, who stood, tongue–tied and motionless, while Zizzbaum orated oilily of the styles. On the model's face was her faint, impersonal professional smile that seemed to cover something like weariness or contempt.