His comfort was soon disturbed, however, by an influx of people
boarding the car at Twenty-third Street. The seats were immediately
filled, and late comers found themselves obliged to stand in the
aisle. Among these were several women. The men nearest buried
themselves in the papers after the almost universal metropolitan
custom. Two or three arose to offer their seats, among them Orde.
When, however, the latter had turned to indicate to one of the women
the vacated seat, he discovered it occupied by a chubby and flashily
dressed youth of the sort common enough in the vicinity of
Fourteenth Street; impudent of eye, cynical of demeanour, and
slightly contemptuous of everything unaccustomed. He had slipped in
back of Orde when that young man arose, whether under the impression
that Orde was about to get off the car or from sheer impudence, it
would be impossible to say.
Orde stared at him, a little astonished.
"I intended that seat for this lady," said Orde, touching him on the
shoulder.
The youth looked up coolly.
"You don't come that!" said he.
Orde wasted no time in discussion, which no doubt saved the
necessity of a more serious disturbance. He reached over suddenly,
seized the youth by the collar, braced his knee against the seat,
and heaved the interloper so rapidly to his feet that he all but
plunged forward among the passengers sitting opposite.
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