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Updated: June 2, 2025
"All ye needed was something soft to dull your wits on; what he's needing is a father and mother and sweetheart and some good 1915 bonds of human trust." The tinker folded his arms over the newel-post and smiled. "And do you expect to be able to supply them all?" "God forbid!" Patsy laughed in spite of herself.
She had stopped him on the moment of his departure at the foot of the stairs, close to the grotesque old newel-post, to look him over with a severely critical eye. "Has it got its posy in its button-hole?" she inquired, throwing open his ulster. There was a gardenia there. "Yes, that's all right." Then: "Has it got its little soles blacked?"
Spurred by solicitude, the young man put personal apprehensions in his pocket and forgot them, cautiously picking his way through the gloom to the foot of the stairs. There, by the newel-post, he paused. Darkness walled him about.
Truesdale laughed, and turned up one of his long, slender, shining shoes, while he supported himself by his other leg and the newel-post. "Yes, that's first-rate," she assented. "What else is there, now?" she pondered. "Oh! wait one second." She ravaged his inner pocket with a sudden hand. "Has it got its 'foom'ry on its little hanky?" She drew out the handkerchief and clapped it to her nose.
Now let's see how bad he's hurt." With hands strong and gentle, he turned the round, light head. Then, "Ah!" he commented in the accent of comprehension. For there was an angry looking bump at the base of the skull; and, the skin having been broken, possibly in collision with the sharp-edged newel-post, a little blood had stained and matted the straw-colored hair.
Gryce's mouth betrayed that he noted this change, but he did not turn away from the newel-post. "This is a remarkable circumstance which you have just told me," observed Mr. Van Burnam, with the first bow I had ever received from him. "I don't know what to think of it. But I still hold that it's some thief. Killed, did you say? Really dead?
The newcomer was half-way across the room before he saw Lydia. He stopped, with a look of extreme pleasure and surprise, which Lydia answered with a frank smile. "Why, have you met my niece?" asked Mrs. Sandworth, looking from one to the other. "Oh, yes; Mr. Rankin's my oldest new friend in Endbury. I met him the first day I was back." "And when I set up the newel-post "
How could he accomplish the impossible task? His solution of the problem was very simple, though daring and perilous as all the rest. While leaning against the newel-post he let himself fall diagonally upon the bottom step, where he lay partly hanging over, but safe, on his side.
Turning, she sped light-footed down the staircase to the lower hall, he at her elbow. Here the uproar was loudest deep enough to drown whatever sounds might have been made by two pairs of flying feet. For all that they fled on tiptoe, stealthily, guilty shadows in the night; and at the newel-post swung back into the unbroken blackness which shrouded the fastnesses backward of the dwelling.
She sat down on the bottom step and drew her white skirts about her. "What's the matter with right now?" she asked, smiling. "I've got to earn my living right now," he objected, beginning with a swift deftness to bore a tiny hole. She was diverted for an instant. "What are you doing to our nice old newel-post?" she asked. "I thought they said you were going to set up the new sideboard."
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