So that was a deadly hour. But through it all, in the hush before the battle, Mrs. Radigan stood undaunted in the big reception-room, firm and masterful, while Radigan wandered aimlessly about adjusting his cuffs. Then the noble lord who stands in the entrance and announces the events, fired the first big gun. There was a swish of skirts and the name of Miss Bumpschus, $10,000,000 plus, resounding almost to the ballroom, indicated to the watchers there that the conflict was on and that victory was in the air. Miss Bumpschus was an hour late, apologized for being early, and came on to the dance with the much flustered Radigan. A pause. A hush. The noble lord was in action again, and Mr. Pomade, $1,000,000 down and five more sure to come, made his appearance. Mrs. Radigan was beaming and she had a right. At the heels of the exquisite Pomade came Count Popperwhistle, $1,500,000 minus and open to propositions. After him, a mob. The opera was over. From the street below sounded the shouts of a hundred coachmen, and elevator after elevator dumped into the hall all the flowers that bloom to-day in society. There were no last roses, no century-plants; I don't think the Van Rundouns were even asked, and I know the Rollers Club fellows were left out. Even the Monday Cotillons were almost forgotten, except for a few like the Mints and the Plumstone Smiths, who are in one set on account of their poverty, but have a hold on the other because of their family. Willie Lite had made good. While a great number had sent regrets, they all came, anyway, and where had been a weary waste of polished floor, there now was a whirling struggle for a foothold and breathing-space. All the Bumpschuses, the Wherry-Mints, the Mint-Wherrys, the Jack Twitters, the Willies and Bobbies, the Tommies and Harrys were there. Willie Lite dancing with Miss Veal, simple white and pearls, led at one end, while Plumstone Smith dancing with Miss Marie Antoinette Williegilt, led at the other. The favors were the finest that New York has ever seen, and our smart matrons will have to make inroads into their bank-accounts to beat them. The silver-bound whiskey-flasks for the men, I know, cost $25 apiece, and the carved ivory cigarette-cases for the girls were still more expensive. Then there were riding-crops and parasols and useful things like that, which really made dancing profitable. The supper was as excellent as it was unpronounceable and indigestible, and Willie Lite must have made a good thing in commissions. But he deserved it. More, too, I thought, when I clipped this morning, from the journal that gives all the news that is worth printing, a list of those who were at Mrs. Radigan's first annual ball last night and are pledged to those to come. Here are a few of the names: