THE END OF THE SEASON

The William K. Vanderbilt mansion at Fifty-second Street and Fifth Avenue is, according to report, not to be torn down, but will be transported bodily to Long Island where it will be re-erected as a country home. The same fate is also reported to await the Cornelius Vanderbilt “château” at Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue which was sold last Spring for $7,100,000. Both mansions are, it is said, to be moved to Long Island and re-assembled by purchasers as yet unnamed.

—News Item.

Scene

Fifth Avenue between Fifty-second and Fifty-seventh Streets 3 a. m.

Characters

Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt’s House. Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s House.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: You-hoo!

Mrs. Cornelius’ House: You-hoo!

Mrs. W. K.’s House: Are you awake?

Mrs. C.’s House: Am I awake? I should say I am. We’re moving down to the country tomorrow, you know.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: We move down next week. How are you going down?

Mrs. C.’s House: The Herman W. Oberholzer Wrecking Company, I think—if it’s pleasant. The men said they would be here at seven. Imagine! The front steps are going down first; so there will be something there when we get there. The little towers are crazy to go down with the front steps, but I don’t think I’ll let them. I think they ought to stay and go down with the rest of the house. You’re all going down together, aren’t you?

Mrs. W. K.’s House: Oh, I suppose so. I dread the whole thing and will be glad when it’s over. We’ve had all those impossible people tramping through the house all week—charity, you know. Some days it just seemed as if I couldn’t stand it. One man actually wanted to take a bath in the marble tub! My dear, I was furious! I think that when we do get to the country, I’ll just go to bed and stay there.

Mrs. C.’s House: Why don’t you hurry up and come down with us tomorrow? The Oberholzer people are awfully nice and I’m sure there’d be room.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: Oh, I don’t know. I’m so tired I just can’t think.

Mrs. C.’s House: My dear, you could do it just as easily as not. Just throw together the things you’ll need—the Blashfield murals and the Caen stair-case—and have them ready at seven-thirty. Then, just as soon as we are all on the truck, I’ll tell the Oberholzer men to come right over and get you and we can all go down together.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: Oh, dear, I’ve half a mind to do it; I do so want to get out of the city. Somehow I’ve been awfully depressed about things lately. New York isn’t what it used to be. And then the selling of the lot and everything, and all these big business buildings coming into the neighborhood. A thirty-three story one here, you know.

Mrs. C.’s House: My dear, what do you think of us! A forty-two story hotel, if you please! We got rather used to the Plaza, but I’m glad that I sha’n’t be here to see this new thing.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: Do you know, I think I’ll just tear and get ready to go down with you in the morning. We have practically no front-steps, you know, and we can just sort of camp out down there until the roof and other things come down. Seven-thirty, you say?

Mrs. C.’s House: That’s what the wrecking people said, I suppose that means eight or half-past. We’ll have to eat luncheon on the way. We’ll have plenty of chicken for you.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: My dear, don’t be silly. I’ll bring the sandwiches, and perhaps when they tear the cellar up they may find enough champagne for just the two of us.

Mrs. C.’s House: That will be divine! Seven-thirty, then.

Mrs. W. K.’s House: Good night, my dear. And don’t forget, I’m bringing the sandwiches!