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Updated: June 2, 2025
Women who were clustered about the newel-post drew back, and some others sauntered away into side-rooms with an appearance of suddenly wishing to go somewhere. This certainly was very singular, especially as these marks of disapproval did not seem to be directed so much at myself as at some one behind me. Who could this some one be?
Belden hurried across the room and caught him at the foot of the steps. "Well, old man, how goes it?" he demanded, with a determined cheerfulness. His brother-in-law stared at him emptily. "It's to-morrow," he said, gripping the newel-post, "to-morrow afternoon. Jameson is coming they'll do it here.
"And you learned something, doubtless, about the old newel-post that was taken from the Putney mansion, which I hope you admired adequately, about the old clock, the tables, and the chairs. You heard the respectable names also of the respectable Parrs' ancestors, and Mr. Parr asked you how you liked Warwick, after which he told you how he liked it himself."
That mahogany table with the low-hanging leaves is a genuine Pembroke. Do you see that newel-post? It's the only thing in the house we did n't inherit. We got it from the old Putney mansion when they were tearing it down to make room for the library. When I heard they were destroying the house, I sent Mr.
"It seemed like one," he owned. They went out together, gayly chatting, but she would not encourage the movement he made towards the veranda. She remained firmly attached to the newel-post of the stairs, and at the first chance he gave her she said good-night and bounded lightly upward. At the turn of the stairs she stopped and looked laughing down at him over the rail.
There's no danger, thank Heaven! but I don't believe she can be about for a month or more. I'm going to 'phone for a trained nurse. Just see that nobody disturbs her, will you?" He darted away, leaving Lydia leaning against the newel-post, gasping. The clock in the dining-room chimed the quarter-hour.
The child shrank to the newel-post, her narrow little face overtaken with an agony of shyness. "Cat got your tongue? Say howdy. Quit breathing through your mouth like a fish. Say howdy, that's a good girl." "Don't force her, Jerry. She's bashful. Ain't you, dearie? Ain't you, Maisie?" "Moping, you mean. If it was her month in the dirty Harlem flat she'd be spry enough.
And then I saw what the dim light had not revealed before, a young man's form standing by the newel-post of the wide staircase that rose at our left. He at once came forward, and as the light from the lamp above us fell fully upon him, I saw his face, and started. Why? I could not tell. Not because his handsome features struck me pleasantly, for they did not.
Kneeling beside the inert body of Brian Shaynon, where it had lodged on a broad, low landing three steps from the foot of the staircase, he turned up to P. Sybarite fishy, unemotional eyes in a pasty fat face. The little man said nothing. Resting a hand on the newel-post, he looked down unmoved upon the mortal wreck of him who had been his life's bane.
Carlisle found herself, beyond the door, in a quaint high-ceiled court, enfolded with peristyles in two long rows, and paved with discolored tiles loose under the foot. At the farther end of the court there ran away a broad corridor into the dusk, and here also, full fifty feet distant, rose the grand stairway with ornate sweeping balustrade ending in a tall carved newel-post.
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