Princesse style, will exactly suit your daughter--and on the dinner
gowns she can wear a trimming of that dull jet passementerie."

From gowns she went naturally to the difficulty of knowing whom to meet
in a city like New York--and how to meet them--and the watchfulness
required to keep daughter Millie from becoming entangled with leading
theatrical gentlemen. Amid Percival's lamentations that he must so soon
leave Chicago, the train moved slowly out of the big shed to search in
the interwoven puzzle of tracks for one that led to the East.

As they left the centre of the city Higbee drew Percival to one of the
broad side windows.

"Pull up your chair and sit here a minute," he said, with a mysterious
little air of importance. "There's a thing this train's going to pass
right along here that I want you to look at. Maybe you've seen better
ones, of course--and then again--"

It proved to be a sign some twenty feet high and a whole block long.
Emblazoned upon its broad surface was "Higbee's Hams." At one end and
towering another ten feet or so above the mammoth letters was a
white-capped and aproned chef abandoning his mercurial French
temperament to an utter frenzy of delight over a "Higbee's Ham" which
had apparently just been vouchsafed to him by an invisible benefactor.

"There, now!" exclaimed Higbee; "what do you call that--I want to
know--hey?"

"Great! Magnificent!" cried Percival, with the automatic and ready
hypocrisy of a sympathetic nature. "That certainly is great."