demonstrative people.

The journey to New York was at that time very long and disagreeable,
but Orde bore it with his accustomed stoicism. He had visited the
metropolis before, so it was not unfamiliar to him. He was very
glad, however, to get away from the dust and monotony of the
railroad train. The September twilight was just falling. Through
its dusk the street lamps were popping into illumination as the
lamp-lighter made his rapid way. Orde boarded a horse-car and
jingled away down Fourth Avenue. He was pleased at having arrived,
and stretched his legs and filled his lungs twice with so evident an
enjoyment that several people smiled.

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.