Somewhere about this time Milly acquired two lively young friends, Sally and Vivie Norton, daughters of a railroad man who had recently been moved to Chicago from the East. Sally Norton was small and blonde and gay. She laughed overmuch. Vivie was tall and sentimental,--a brunette. They came once to the West Laurence Avenue house for Sunday supper. Horatio did not like the sisters; he called them in his simple way "Giggle" and "Simper." The Nortons lived not far from the Lake on East Acacia Street, and that became for Milly the symbol of the all-desirable. She spoke firmly of the advantages of East Acacia Street as a residence--she had even picked out the house, the last but one in the same row of stone-front boxes where the Nortons lived. It made Horatio restless. Like a good father he wished to indulge his only child in every way--to do his best for her. But with his salary of three thousand dollars he could barely give Milly the generous allowance she needed and always spent in advance. Rise at Hoppers' was slow, although sure, and the only way for him to enlarge Milly's horizon was by going into business for himself. He began to talk of schemes, said he was tired of "working for others all his life." Milly's ambitions were contagious. After one of the family conflicts, Grandma invaded Milly's bedroom, which was quite irritating to the young woman. "Mildred," she began ominously. "Do you realize what you are doing to your father?" "The rent is only thirty dollars a month more, grandma," Milly replied, reverting to the last topic under discussion. "Papa can take it out of my allowance." (Milly was magnificently optimistic about the expansiveness of her allowance.) "Anyhow, I don't see why I can't live near my friends and have a decent--" The old lady's lips tightened. "In my days young girls did not pretend to decide where their parents should live." "These aren't your days, grandma, thank heaven!... If a girl is going to get anything out of life--" "You've had a great deal--" "Thanks to the friends I've made for myself." "It might be better if you cared less to go with folks above you--" "Above me!" the exasperated girl flashed. "Who's above me? Nelly Kemp? Sally Norton?--Above me!" That was the flaming note of Milly's intense Americanism. As a social, human being she recognized no superiors. There were richer, cleverer, better educated women, no doubt, but in this year of salvation and hope, 1890, there were none "above her." Never!... Mrs. Ridge discreetly shifted the point of attack. "It might be disastrous for your father if you were to break up his home." "You talk so tragically, grandma! Who's thinking of breaking up homes? Just moving a couple of miles across the city to another house in another street. What difference does it make to a man what old house he comes home to after his work is done?" "You forget his church relations, Milly." "You seem to think there are no churches on the North Side."