Who shall say where fancy first was bred? Not you—or I—nor even Blue Jeans. For he had not even seen her yet, not with seeing eyes. Here was yet no chapter of his Dream.
"A decent girl!" was what he muttered. "A decent girl—I'd swear it!"
And he looked again, eagerly, beneath the truck.
An hour later when Blue Jeans heard a man asking for Perry Blair in the Cactus House, he stepped up. He didn't care for his looks, which was no novelty so far in this venture.
"I'm Perry Blair," he said.
"I'm Devereau."
And later, over a contract:
"This mentions mighty little money," said Perry, "and that little bashful and meek."
Perry's manner did not even approximate the respect which Devereau felt was his due.
"You'll be well taken care of," he stated curtly.