CHAPTER XII

_We Inspect the New House_

I went through the new Radigan house on Fifth Avenue the other day, and I must say that not in years have I had so delightful an adventure as that trip through my friends' fairy-palace. The phrase fairy-palace is used not to imply beauty, but the marvel of its building, for it might be said to have arisen in a night. But Coppe & Coppe are masterful architects. They hold the time record for a twenty-seven-story office building, and with artists like these, Radigan's money, and a cousin who is a walking delegate, wonders can be accomplished. The mansion to-day is practically finished, except for the lightning-rods on the tower, which rises from the western front, an exact copy of those truncated ones of Notre Dame.

We strolled up in the afternoon, the Radigans, Miss Veal, and myself, and on the way picked up J. Madison Mudison, who was walking off a little stag dinner of the night before, and seemed rather depressed. As we passed Seventieth Street we got the first view of the new house and crossed the street to get the best effects. Mrs. Radigan, with much pride, pointed out the exterior beauties of the structure. With the gardens, it occupies an entire block, save for a row of apartment houses on the Madison Avenue end, and I must confess that the bare backs of these plebeian structures, with their laundry work floating in the breeze, do not make an agreeable setting; but Mrs. Radigan said that that objection would soon be done away with, as the upward trend of trade would eventually replace the flats with fine office buildings. So we tried to rub them from our eyes and see only the splendid edifice that was glistening in the afternoon sun.

Mrs. Radigan was beaming. As mistress of such a home she had a good right.

"Mr. Coppe assures me that it is perfect," she said, when we had stood for some minutes in mute admiration. "He declares that it is his firm's she-dove."

"Mr. Coppe tells me," she went on, "that the front is just like Ver-sales, the palace of the Lewises, Lewis cattorze, Lewis cans, and Lewis seeze. The tower is like that of Notre Dayme exactly, only red to match the front." Mrs. Radigan had assumed something of the air of a sight-seeing automobile lecturer, and fearing that her strident tones would collect a crowd I began to move ahead with Miss Veal. Then I caught a few words more and loath to lose so lucid a treatise on architecture, paused to catch this: "Mr. Coppe says a building must always express something. You observe how he has carried out the idea. Look along the north end of the second story and you will see a window with six classic columns outside. That is John's study."

Meaning, of course, I pondered, that the Greeks always had columns outside their study windows. The tower, then, was meant to indicate that John was a vestryman in St. Edward's, and the French front below that his wife was a leader of the fashion. I was curious to know what the back of the house expressed and was graciously informed that Mr. Coppe said that it was not a reproduction, but had been inspired by the Villa Medici in Rome.

So we went on. A loud banging at a brass knocker, taken from one of Washington's head-quarters, set electric bells going inside and brought a workman, who summoned Mr. Coppe, he having been prepared for our coming. Coppe is a charming fellow. He has danced his way to the very front of his profession, and as a cotillon-leader and artist has no rival in the city. Of late he has been giving his entire time to the Radigans, and his commissions on the interior decorations alone would allow him to retire for life. I could see that at a glance. In every room there was a goodly company of workmen--working, for the walking delegate was there looking after the interests of his relatives.

The entrance-floor did not interest me much. A few small reception and dressing rooms were surrounded by servants' quarters and kitchens, and Mrs. Radigan refused to look at the kitchen. Cooking odors, she said, always nauseated her, a condition for which she had to thank her surfeited maternal ancestors, I suspect. So we went up the wide staircase, part of which was brought from an old French château. At the first landing Mr. Coppe drew our attention to a niche in the wall.

"Here," he said, "we shall hang the famous Velasquez which I recently discovered on the East Side and purchased for Mr. Radigan for $40,000--a bargain."

This was the first Radigan had heard of his prize, and it pleased him greatly.

"Is it an ancient or a modern?" he inquired gravely.

Hearing its age and that it was so old that the central figure hardly showed at all, he expressed his delight. Radigan has been developing wonderfully of late as a patron of the arts.

At the second landing we came to the well-known portrait of J. John Radigan, Esq., in hunting costume, and at the head of the stairs, in the foyer, the first thing to catch the eye was the picture of Mrs. Radigan, which made such a furore at the recent Academy. It is by the great Fatuous, who did the Kaiser, the Duke of Lummix, and Lady Angelica Mumm, and so has had a great vogue here this winter. In securing him to paint her into society last fall, Mrs. Radigan executed a master-stroke. She sat day and night that it might be done in time for the exhibition, but nothing ever daunts her. She declared that poor Radigan was risking life and limb playing polo and hunting foxes for her sake, and she just had to do something. Between sitting and polo I should say that the latter was the easier, but surely she was repaid for her suffering.

Fatuous is an artist, indeed! The woman of his canvas is lovely. She is about six inches taller than Mrs. Radigan, and perhaps fifty pounds lighter in weight. Leaning back gracefully in her chair, her eyes are turned down, as she gazes tenderly and pensively at the child at her side. Spirituelle she looks, high-born and high-strung as becomes the daughter of a hundred Americans and the mistress of the largest house that fronts the park.

"It's charming," said Mr. Mudison. "But who is the boy?"

"Jack," Mrs. Radigan answered.

"Jack?" exclaimed the clubman, puzzled.

"Not my husband--my son," she returned.

"Ah," cried Mr. Mudison. "I see, I see. The child I met at Westbury, walking with a governess."

One of the greatest triumphs of this democratic country of ours is the ease with which the plain Johns of one generation are succeeded by Jacks. I have never seen this Radigan hopeful but once, and have hardly heard mention of him much oftener, but our modern system of keeping the children in storage until they are full-grown often leads us to the erroneous idea that somebody's millions are just lying in wait for a library to found.

"Mr. Fatuous said I must have a child to balance the composition," explained Mrs. Radigan. "So I had Jack brought up from Westbury, where we had been keeping him for the winter. He just hated sitting and it generally took me and the governess and a nurse to hold him. Sometimes he kicked dreadfully, but Mr. Fatuous made him look like a perfect dear. Thank goodness, though, that's over. I just couldn't stand the kicks any longer, so we got a child from an asylum I am interested in. He did splendidly."

I wondered why Mrs. Radigan troubled sitting herself, and was on the point of making the suggestion when she went on:

"So here I am, sitting looking pensively at Jack, one of my hands resting on the arm of the chair and the other holding Jack's, who is looking up affectionately at me. A bit of light comes through the window, shining on my face and on the diamond buckle on my slipper, which rests on a silk cushion. I am awfully angular and lovely and thin. Mr. Fatuous says he considers the woman in the picture one of the handsomest he has ever done. It really looks something like me."

"A perfect likeness," cried Mr. Mudison.

Mrs. Radigan was splendid when she felt the slippery floors of her real home beneath her feet. Her mien became majestic as we went from room to room--first through the portrait-gallery, where already a few of the gems Mr. Coppe had bought on commission were being hung; then into the ballroom, all white and gold, and so artfully arranged with mirrors as to make a small dance appear like a charity ball; on into the conservatory, where the artificial palms were already in place, and everything was being prepared for the rest of the plants. We retraced our steps to the other side, where the suite begins with a small salon, finished, as Mrs. Radigan explained, in light blue and gold, in the style of "Lewis cans." Beyond this is a large drawing-room in dark red, with several cosy-corners, making it the only homelike apartment in the house. It opens into the dining-room, done in light oak and very smart tapestries, showing a series of hunting scenes on Hempstead Plain. After this, a good idea, all Radigan's own and very original, is the little café, which opens off one corner and joins the smoking and billiard-rooms. It gives him all the comforts of his club in his own home, he says, for he can either sit down and punch a brass bell on the Flemish oak table, or have his choice passed to him through a small hole which communicates with the butler's pantry.

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."