Mary Roberts Rinehart

“ Grandfather Huxley looked at the clock. It was ten thirty, so Ellen was not at home. He listened for Nora's step. Hearing no one, he got up heavily and went to the head of the stairs. The cries kept on, longer now, with fewer intervals for breath, and with an occasional hoarse note of infantile rage.
The old man lost his look of indecision; he turned back into the room, and fumbled for his slippers. Then, with an agility that no one in the house suspected, he went down-stairs to the nursery.
The wicker structure of the baby's bed was vibrant with its occupant's rage. ”

“ The grandson was kindly enough; to his mother's father he gave a comfortable room and a half contemptuous kindliness which showed itself in a total disregard of the old man's politics and an evident idea that at threescore and fifteen one should lose all interest in this world and prepare for the next. ”

“ If Grandfather Huxley rebelled, he said nothing. He began to take the evening paper up-stairs after the family had finished with it, and to spend a great deal of time polishing the sword he had carried in the Mexican War.
Old people as a rule have few possessions. One by one they dispose of unnecessary things. ”