Altogether the house is very complete. An elevator took us to the next floor. We saw Radigan's study, with a gymnasium adjoining it, and stairs leading to a swimming-tank below; the sleeping apartments, all exact copies of the royal suite in the Hotel St. Regis; the library, where room is provided for 10,000 volumes, for which Mr. Coppe has already placed a lump order.
Everybody was delighted. For myself, I have never seen a more perfect house, one which so shows in every crack and cranny the wealth and taste that have been lavished on it. Even J. Madison Mudison, who had been wandering around rather dazed and mute, as we turned to leave, said that it was "awfully jolly." It is. If Mr. Coppe had worked for years instead of two weeks over his plans he could not have conceived a dwelling that would better express its occupants.
Mrs. Radigan was more than satisfied. I thought she would embrace the architect when we parted, so effusive was she. But instead she gave him her royal command.
"You must positively be out of the house in three weeks," she said. "I am going to give an Indian ball and want the rooms fixed up like woods and wigwams and things. I simply must have the affair before Lent."
We Go Skating at Exudo
I am beginning to suspect that the unwarranted report that Mrs. Radigan is to marry J. Madison Mudison and Radigan to marry Miss Bumpschus may prove true, after all. At the time when it was printed there was absolutely no ground for the story, but the publication seems to have turned the thoughts of all concerned in a new direction and the suggestion is pleasing. In their efforts to prove that such a report is cruel Miss Bumpschus is having the Radigans to something two or three times a week, and Mudison calls daily on Mrs. Radigan to express his regret. Radigan is supporting the Home for Aged Ticket-choppers, and has discovered many bonds of sympathy between Miss Ethel and himself. For instance, she loves church-work and abominates polo and bridge. J. John, in his efforts to further his wife's ambitions, has been twice hit on the head by a mallet and has been rolled on by his ponies a score of times. Poker and passing the plate at St. Edward's are much more to his taste. His wife has sporting proclivities. She likes to have a bishop to dinner. It delights her to see her husband being beaten on the head by the mallets of the smartest men in town, and to watch him in his automobile tearing off one hundred miles of beach an hour. She was in ecstasy when the story got out that he had lost $100,000 in one night's play at Potlots, and he had to spend a few weeks at Newport to avoid the subpœna servers and reporters. As he had really lost the money, Radigan did not appreciate the additional prestige the incident had won for him. So you see there is a great incompatibility in temperament. In Mudison, on the other hand, Mrs. Radigan has found her ideal man. He belongs to seven clubs; his polo handicap is nine; he is arrested monthly for overspeeding; he is literary and talks delightfully on the works of Winston Churchill and Anna K. Green; his family has been known in New York for nearly half a century, its founder being Sheriff Mudison, who left a large fortune. Of course there is the question of young Radigan, but he could easily be given to a third party, so I am not altogether sure that the change would not be a good one if Miss Bumpschus could be made to overcome her old-fashioned prejudices.
There is at present, however, no sign of a movement toward South Dakota; but I suppose if it comes to that, Mrs. Radigan would prefer to go in Lent, so as not to miss any of the winter season, and then she could be back for Newport in August. That would, of course, necessitate her giving up her plans to spend May and June in London and capture a duke for Miss Pearl Veal, but I fear she is occupying herself more with her own heart now than with her sister's hand. But the clouds are gathering for the storm—if storm it can be called. Then, are not storms always followed by fair weather? We all went to Exudo skating the other day—one of the clouds—as the guests of J. Madison, who was endeavoring to show the world that there was nothing in the cruel gossip. Besides the Radigans and Miss Bumpschus, Plumstone Smith and his fiancée, Miss Veal, he kindly asked Miss Marian Speechless and myself. By a special effort Mrs. Radigan got up very early and we were able to catch the eleven-o'clock train, so we reached the club by one. Who should we see there but Willie Lite, the Dewberry Lambs with the Count and Countess Poglioso Spinnigini, the Harry Stumbles and a lot of other nice people we know! I had a glimpse of the Van Rundouns, with some queer-looking friends from Boston, but I had no chance to speak to them. The Dewberry Lamb party joined us at luncheon and we had a very jolly time at the big round table.