Petticoat was just going out and he sat before the mirror, earnestly
adjusting a hair net over his permanent.

"Hello, _Fruit Mousse_," he said, half absent-mindedly, as he went on
adjusting.

Big Bill Petticoat was far from being effeminate. He was found of
aesthetics and anaesthetics, and his chief interests in life were beauty
and his big bills.

"What's the use of beauty, if a thing isn't useful?" Warble would ask, and
Petticoat would reply, "What's the use of use, anyway? There's no use in
having anything that isn't beautiful."

And as the house was under Petticoat rule, Big Bill won out.

"You must have a party, Warble," Petticoat said, as he fitted a long, slim
cigarette into a long, slim holder.

"I'd rather have a baby," and she looked up at him inquiringly.

"Honest, Warbie, I can't afford it. I've lots of money, but we take a lot
of keeping ourselves, and to keep a baby means almost a whole extra
establishment. Let's wait till I've saved up a bit, or we have a windfall.
Leathersham owes me a small fortune for his cook's ptomaine cases--she's
always getting poisoned with her imported canned things--but Goldie's slow
pay, and too, I want to make a few improvements on the place. I'm thinking
of bringing over a Moorish Courtyard intact--nice, eh?"