FullReads

“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 crowbait 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 canon 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.

When the display was over Platt seemed to hesitate. Zizzbaum was a little anxious, thinking that his customer might be inclined to try elsewhere. But Platt was only looking over in his mind the best building sites in Cactus City, trying to select one on which to build a house for his wife-to-be–who was just then in the dressing- room taking off an evening gown of lavender and tulle.

“Take your time, Mr. Platt,” said Zizzbaum. “Think it over to-night. You won’t find anybody else meet our prices on goods like these. I’m afraid. you’re having a dull time in New York, Mr. Platt. A young man like you–of course, you miss the society of the ladies. Wouldn’t you like a nice young lady to take out to dinner this evening? Miss Asher, now, is a very nice young lady; she will make it agreeable for you.”

“Why, she doesn’t know me,” said Platt, wonderingly. “She doesn’t know anything about me. Would she go? I’m not acquainted with her.”

“Would she go?” repeated Zizzbaum, with uplifted eyebrows. “Sure, she would go. I will introduce you. Sure, she would go.”

He called Miss Asher loudly.

She came, calm and slightly contemptuous, in her white shirt waist and plain black skirt.

“Mr. Platt would like the pleasure of your company to dinner this evening,” said Zizzbaum, walking away.

“Sure,” said Miss Asher, looking at the ceiling. “I’d be much pleased. Nine-eleven West Twentieth street. What time?”

“Say seven o’clock.”

“All right, but please don’t come ahead of time. I room with a school teacher, and she doesn’t allow any gentlemen to call in the room. There isn’t any parlor, so you’ll have to wait in the hall. I’ll be ready.”

At half past seven Platt and Miss Asher sat at a table in a Broadway restaurant. She was dressed in a plain, filmy black. Platt didn’t know that it was all a part of her day’s work.

With the unobtrusive aid of a good waiter he managed to order a respectable dinner, minus the usual Broadway preliminaries.

Miss Asher flashed upon him a dazzling smile.

“Mayn’t I have something to drink?” she asked.

“Why, certainly,” said Platt. “Anything you want.”

“A dry Martini,” she said to the waiter.

When it was brought and set before her Platt reached over and took it away.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A cocktail, of course.”

“I thought it was som
e kind of tea you ordered. This is liquor. You can’t drink this. What is your first name?”

“To my intimate friends,” said Miss Asher, freezingly, “it is ‘Helen.'”

“Listen, Helen,” said Platt, leaning over the table. “For many years every time the spring flowers blossomed out on the prairies I got to thinking of somebody that I’d never seen or heard of. I knew it was you the minute I saw you yesterday. I’m going back home to-morrow, and you’re going with me. I know it, for I saw it in your eyes when you first looked at me. You needn’t kick, for you’ve got to fall into line. Here’s a little trick I picked out for you on my way over.”