CHAPTER XVI

_Mrs. Radigan's Costume-ball_

I have just been going over the newspaper accounts of the Radigans' costume-ball, and I must say that the columns and columns devoted to it, speak well for my friends' standing in Society. It is generally conceded that New York has never before seen such a lavish affair, and the estimates of its cost go from $50,000 up. Yet these do not consider the new house, which was built primarily as a place of entertainment, not as a home; so part of the million spent there should be charged against the dance. The whole affair was colossal. But the Radigans are paying the bills without a word, for they are more than satisfied with the advertising they have received. Their position is now absolutely established, and nothing can shake them out of smart society but the loss of their money.

The new house was a dream. Young Mr. Coppe, of Coppe & Coppe, the architects, had arranged all the decorations, and he showed rare taste and ingenuity, for to contrive the surroundings for an Indian dance was no simple matter. But he worked it out cleverly. Entering the great hall, the guests left civilization behind them and stood in a giant wigwam. It was a little out of shape, because of the proportions of the room, but the illusion was well maintained by the arrangement of poles and hides, with decorations of bows, arrows, and imitation scalps hanging everywhere. Of course it was necessary to leave this for a moment and plunge into the civilization of the dressing-rooms, where a score of servants costumed like trappers were in attendance. But when your costume was arranged you plunged into the wild again, passing through the wigwam, up the broad stairway, past the famous Velasquez and the Fatuous portrait of Mrs. Radigan and her child, pausing in the foyer, a charming forest with a pool full of goldfish in the centre, on into the wigwam, once the portrait-gallery, where Mrs. Radigan received her guests.

Mrs. Radigan was superb. Mrs. Radigan was unique. Mrs. Radigan was lovely. She was Pocahontas, and that there should be not the slightest color of scandal she made Radigan appear as Captain John Smith, so when he wandered up, dragging his long rifle, she could with propriety acknowledge him as her husband. I do not know what the real Pocahontas looked like, but if she was anything like Mrs. Radigan she must have been capable of any heroism. Mrs. Radigan is massive. Her hair, black, flowing down over her shoulders, interworked with flowers and feathers, gave her in the higher altitudes the appearance of Hamlet's unhappy love. Her gown might be described as that of a _nouveau-riche_ Indian maiden, for the famous Radigan pearls put the bead-work to sleep, speaking figuratively; and the rather short skirt gave a glimpse of open-work silks that might have been a gift from her Majesty of England.

Mrs. Radigan was charming. There was a smile and a hearty, whole-souled hand-shake for all, and as they came trooping past her in their Indian garb she had a word of admiration for every one of them. Pearl Veal as Minnehaha, and myself as Hiawatha, each got a resounding kiss, which in my case disarranged my deep bronze complexion. And as for J. Madison Mudison! Pearl and I were at Mrs. Radigan's side when he arrived, and we noted that she held his hand very long and seemed to say nothing. But he might well have set anybody speechless. We should never have known him had not the giant trapper at the door, the pride of the servants' hall, announced "Mr. Madison Mudison, the great medicine-man." He was simply hideous. His face was painted all the colors of the rainbow, and from his neck down he was festooned with stuffed snakes and carried a vicious-looking war-club. When he had made his obeisance he stared open-mouthed at the marvellous alteration of the gallery, all hung as it was with hides and scalps, weapons, and trophies of the chase. "Jolly," was his comment--"awfully jolly!" Then, shouldering his weapon, he gathered in Miss Veal and went on into the ballroom.

To go into the ballroom was like stepping into some primeval forest, so artfully had Mr. Coppe carried out his scheme. You seemed in an open place among the trees, a glade, with a green waxed floor underfoot, a starry sky--twinkling stars--overhead and about you the receding woods, whose unreality you only realized when you bumped into the wall. To carry out the illusion, the whistler of a downtown music-hall was hidden in the ceiling, and made a noise like a bird. There was a little stage at one end, and half of the Skimphony Orchestra was concealed in the conservatory, playing divine music.

A remarkable scene! The place was packed with Indians, all laughing and chatting till the noise they made sounded like a knitting-mill, and among them, his long rifle over his shoulders, moved Captain John Smith, nobly playing his part as host to the distinguished company. Miss Bumpschus was there and she almost fainted when I sailed up with J. Madison Mudison, who made a threatening demonstration with his awful spiked club. I must confess I think Miss Bumpschus as an Indian looked better than usual, though her spectacles might have been dispensed with. Still, I suppose she wanted to see what was going on. Mrs. Bobbie Williegilt, on the other hand, was perfect, even to the papoose which she carried on her back. This infant caused some excitement by falling off on the floor later in a dance, for she had failed to explain to some of the dowagers that it was only imitation. Marian Speechless as an Apache maiden, Dewberry Lamb as Red Cloud, and Arthur Slaughterblock-Jones as a youth, were especially excellent in their make-up. By eleven o'clock you might have fancied yourself back in the seventeenth century, sporting in the Virginia forests with Pocahontas and her people.

A company of trappers marched in, and with ropes of roses marked off a ring in the centre of the great room, so that clustered about it the smart tribes were regaled by a war-dance, in which seven of the cleverest men in town took part under the leadership of Madison Mudison. It was very well done, except that young Stuyvesant Mint's head hit one of the spikes of Mudison's club and he had to retire. They were followed by a company of débutantes and young men, including Miss Veal and myself, who did a minuet, which everybody said was charming, as the Indian costumes made it different from anything of the kind they had ever seen.

A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of Miss Maggie McBride, the prima donna of the Hodge-Podge Company, who at present, you know, is the wife of young Bullion, or am I thinking of old Emerson Dotty? The company immediately divided, forming a lane. Radigan advanced to the sedan chair in which four trappers had carried the actress, and helping her to alight, he gracefully led her to the stage. She, too, was in Indian costume, and about her neck wore the famous Dotty diamond collar, for the possession of which the aged Emerson's former wife is now suing. Her performance was inimitable. She sang the same songs and danced the same dances that we can see any night for $2, but some of the Indians did not realize what it cost to have her perform in a private house, and became bored and began to move toward the odor of cooking. This necessitated cutting her programme short, and rather hurrying the feast.

There was a general sigh of relief on the part of the bored Indians when Radigan led the way to the feast with Miss McBride on his arm, looking very lovely. Of course it was necessary at this juncture to part from Indian customs, so supper was served at small tables in the great suite of rooms which begins at the salon and ends in Radigan's little café, all arranged like wigwams. The waiters, attired as trappers, were very picturesque; indeed, the supper was most excellent and the fire-water of many kinds and unlimited in quantity. The heat of the rooms made the paint run somewhat, and consequently there was a considerable exit of the more elderly Indians after the last course. The younger element stayed to dance, until almost daybreak. Many before going home went to the billiard-room, where Radigan had thoughtfully established a number of professional photographers, who took pictures of the guests at his expense, for the Radigans have a way of leaving nothing undone that will add to the pleasure of their guests. They spare no expense. That is the way they have been able to become so extremely smart, and that they are smart none can doubt who reads the list of their guests. Take, for example:

Mrs. Plumstone,

Count and Countess Poglioso Spinnigini,

Mrs. Bobbie Q. Williegilt,

Miss Speechless,

Miss Constance Wherry,

Mr. and Mrs. Dewberry Lamb,

Mr. and Mrs. John Twitter,

Mrs. Very,

Mrs. Garish,

Miss Bumpschus,

Mr. Williegilt,

Mr. Stuyvesant Mint,

Joshua Jumpkin, 7th,

J. Madison Mudison,

Williegilt Bumpschus,

Mrs. Edgerton Twaddell,

The Misses Twaddell,

Mr. E. Williegilt,

Mr. and Mrs. Timpleton Duff,

Mrs. Hegerton Humming,

Miss Humming,

Mr. E. Humming,

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Tattler,

Miss Bilberry,

Miss Clarissa Mudison,

Miss Tumbleton,

Mr. Cecil Hash,

Prince Cosmospopolis,

Miss Mint,

Mr. Willie Lite,

Mr. Garish,

Mr. Horatio Gastly.