“This one,” said the smallest Mexican, “is very strong against religion.”
“It is necessary to be very strong against something,” Mr. Frazer said politely.
“I respect those who have faith even though they are ignorant,” the thin one said.
“Good,” said Mr. Frazer.
“What can we bring you?” asked the big Mexican. “Do you lack for anything?”
“I would be glad to buy some beer if there is good beer.”
“We will bring beer.”
“Another copita before you go?”
“It is very good.”
“We are robbing you.”
“I can’t take it. It goes to my head. Then I have a bad headache and sick at the stomach.”
“Good-by, gentlemen.”
“Good-by and thanks.”
They went out and there was supper and then the radio, turned to be as quiet as possible and still be heard, and the stations finally signing off in this order: Denver, Salt Lake City, Los Angeles, and Seattle. Mr. Frazer received no picture of Denver from the radio. He could see Denver from the Denver Post, and correct the picture from The Rocky Mountain News. Nor did he ever have any feel of Salt Lake City or Los Angeles from what he heard from those places. All he felt about Salt Lake City was that it was dean, but dull, and there were too many ballrooms mentioned in too many big hotels for him to see Los Angeles. He could not feel it for the ballrooms. But Seattle he came to know very well, the taxicab company with the big white cabs (each cab equipped with radio itself) he rode in every night out to the roadhouse on the Canadian side where he followed the course of parties by the musical selections they phoned for. He lived in Seattle from two o’clock on, each night, hearing the pieces that all the different people asked for, and it was as real as Minneapolis,
