ABSTRACT
EL PASO, a city on the south-western tip of Texas, impresses one as a kind of trick. After a desert of incredible size, after endless and peopleless roads, after a silence broken only by the roar of our motor, suddenly a large city, a hundred thousand people at once, several hundred electric signs, men dressed just exactly as they dress in New York or Chicago, and girls so painted as if beside them instead of the desert was an entire continent full of motion-picture theatres, manicuring establishments, lunchrooms, and dancing academies.
