"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.

"Your seat, madam," said Orde.

The woman, frightened, unwilling to become the participant of a
scene of any sort, stood looking here and there. Orde,
comprehending her embarrassment, twisted his antagonist about, and,
before he could recover his equilibrium sufficiently to offer
resistance, propelled him rapidly to the open door, the passengers
hastily making way for them.

"Now, my friend," said Orde, releasing his hold on the other's
collar, "don't do such things any more. They aren't nice."

Trivial as the incident was, it served to draw Orde to the
particular notice of an elderly man leaning against the rear rail.
He was a very well-groomed man, dressed in garments whose fit was
evidently the product of the highest art, well buttoned up, well
brushed, well cared for in every way. In his buttonhole he wore a