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Updated: May 31, 2025
The place swarmed with soldiers; sentries were pacing to and fro on the parapets, gunners furbishing up their pieces, and squads of native auxiliaries being drilled on a broad savanna outside the walls. Many of the houses were mere huts roofs on stilts; others, "wattle and dab;" a few, brown-stone. To the most imposing of these we were conducted by our escort.
I felt that I held in my hand the address I needed. At the Café Jourdain Fifty-four West Houston Street, just three blocks south of Washington Square, was a narrow, four-storied-and-basement building, of gray brick with battered brown-stone trimmings at one time, perhaps, a fashionable residence, but with its last vestige of glory long since departed.
Miles, and had even, during the memorable trip to Nettleton, imagined herself married to a man who had such a straight nose and such a beautiful way of speaking, and who lived in a brown-stone rectory covered with Virginia creeper.
He vowed that somebody wanted to drive him from the house; that there was a conspiracy afoot among the women to get him still higher up town, and into a bigger brown-stone front, and refused to believe one word of the ghost-story.
He had thought of it, had dreamed of it, for years. He was seized with a sort of nervousness when he found himself actually on the avenue, in sight of the large brown-stone mansion which he knew must be the abode of Miss Alice Yorke.
One day, in mounting the handsome brown-stone steps to make more of a social than a business call, he was surprised to see the mansion closed. He felt quite grieved that his friend should have packed up and departed so hastily that she had not even remembered to say good-bye to him.
"Yes, I remember him," said the Doctor. "Is he an architect?" "He is and a good one. He can take a brown-stone dwelling and turn it into a colonial mansion with a pot of yellow paint. He's a wonder. I submitted the idea to him." "And what was his verdict?" "I don't like to say," said the Idiot, blushing a little. "Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Pedagog. "I shouldn't think you would like to say.
Then the war had come; and now, after two years of service and a year in a graduate school, Tom was back, an infant member of the Faculty. Tom loitered up the walk to the Dean's house to make the pleasure of his arrival the greater. The Norris house, a somewhat solemn brown-stone structure built in the 'thirties, fascinated him.
He walked two blocks westward and ascended the steps of a fine brown-stone residence. He asked for Doctor Calkey and was ushered into a private den, where the doctor, a tall, spare man of sixty, soon joined him. "My good friend Adams!" cried the doctor, shaking hands warmly. "Where have you kept yourself? Surely you have not been to see me for a year, or is it longer?
Throughout the house this contrast might be noted. It is the brown-stone, high-stoop house, guarded by a cast-iron fence, built in vast numbers when the world of fashion moved North to Murray Hill and Fifth Avenue a generation ago. One of these houses was like all the others inside and out, built of unimaginative "builder's architecture."
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