Even though Stoddard was a
barrel full of trouble hanging around the building lot with an eagle eye
to see that nothing was omitted, I had already cashed his first few
payment checks on the construction.

He'd meant what he said about his willingness to pay more for the extra
trouble entailed in the mad construction pattern we had to follow, and I
couldn't call him stingy with his extra compensation by a long shot.

Financially, I was doing nicely, thank you. Mentally, I was having the
devil's own time with Stoddard.

He didn't know a damned thing about architecture or construction, of
course. But he did know what he wanted. Good Lord, how he knew what he
wanted!

"The basement boiler layout isn't what I had on my plans!" he'd call me
up to squawk indignantly.

"But it isn't greatly different the way we have it," I'd plead.
"Besides, it's far safer than what you originally planned."

"Is it humanly possible to put it where I planned it?" my troublesome
client would demand.

"Yes," I'd admit. "But saf--"

"Then put it where I planned it!" he would snap, hanging up. And, of
course, I'd have to put it where he'd planned it.

The workmen on the job also presented a problem. They were getting fed
up with Stoddard's snooping, and going crazy laying out patterns which
were in absolute contradiction to sanity and good taste.

But in spite of all this, the monstrosity progressed.

If you can picture a gigantic igloo fronted by southern mansion pillars
and dotted with eighteenth century gables, and having each wing done in
a combination early Mexican and eastern Mosque style, you'll have just
the roughest idea of what it was beginning to look like. For miles
around, people were driving out to see that house in the evenings after
construction men had left.

But the Stoddards were pleased. They were as happy about the whole mess
as a pair of kids erecting a Tarzan dwelling in a tree. And the extra
compensations I was getting for the additional trouble wasn't hurting me
any.

* * * * *

I'll never forget the day when we completed the tiny belfry which topped
off the monstrosity. Yes, a belfry. Just the kind you still see on
little country churches and schoolhouses, only, of course a trifle
different.

The Stoddards had come out to the lot to witness this momentous event;
the completion, practically, of their dream child.

I was almost as happy as they were, for it stood as the sym