"Notice the size of it?" queried Higbee, when they had flitted by.

"_Did_ I!" exclaimed the young man, reproachfully.

"We went by pretty fast--you couldn't see it well. I tell you the way
they're allowed to run trains so fast right here in this crowded city
is an outrage. I'm blamed if I don't have my lawyer take it up with the
Board of Aldermen--slaughtering people on their tracks right and
left--you'd think these railroad companies owned the earth--But that
sign, now. Did you notice you could read every letter in the label on
that ham? You wouldn't think it was a hundred yards back from the
track, would you? Why, that label by actual measure is six feet, four
inches across--and yet it looks as small--and everything all in the
right proportion, it's wonderful. It's what I call art," he concluded,
in a slightly dogmatic tone.

"Of course it's art," Percival agreed; "er--all--hand-painted, I
suppose?"

"Sure! that painting alone, letters and all, cost four hundred and
fifty dollars. I've just had it put up. I've been after that place for
years, but it was held on a long lease by Max, the Square Tailor--you
know. You probably remember the sign he had there--'Peerless Pants Worn
by Chicago's Best Dressers' with a man in his shirt sleeves looking at
a new pair. Well, finally, I got a chance to buy those two back lots,
and that give me the site, and there she is, all finished and up.
That's partly what I come on this time to see about. How'd you like the
wording of that sign?"