That Thursday afternoon she was in love with her husband. She toddled into his room to talk to him. She was in pastel chiffon boudoir jambiéres picked out with rosebuds. She sat, cross-legged, on one of his gray satin floor pillows and looked up at him. 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?” “What's it good for?” demanded Warble. “We've done our courting, and anyway--look here, Bill, there's only three things I can do. Have a baby--” “Cut it out, Warb; I haven't the means just now. And it might be twins.” “That's so. Well, the second thing is to reform this town. It's going to the dogs--to little, silly Pekes and Poms. I can save it, and correct its ways and put it on a sound utilitarian basis.” “Don't believe you could do that.” “Can do. But the third trick is to flop over to their side and be like the town people myself.” Petticoat laughed outright. “Nixy on that, Warble, my duck. You'd have to reduce.” “I speck I should. Well, then the reform act for mine. I've got to do something, Pet, to keep amused and interested.” “That's what I said. Have a party.” “I will. And it will be part of the reform. These people are too highbrow. Too soulful. Too artistic--” “Warble! How many times have I told you _never_ to use that word! Now, look here, if you want to play at reforming, go ahead, nobody will interfere with you. But where'll you get time? You spend most of your waking hours in slumber, and the rest, eating. You're a sweet, lovely, cuddly thing, but if you keep on, some day you'll find you can't get your kimono together.” “Then I'll wear two. But, Bill, I'm not so big, you know.” Warble up, and parading the room with a martial air. “You're a perfect Bellona!” Petticoat said, smiling at her.