Helen Thorpe had always admired her brother, but had never before needed him.

She had looked upon him as strong, self-contained, a little moody.

Now the tone of his letter caused her to wonder whether he were not also a trifle hard and cold.
So she wept on receiving it, and the tears watered the ground for discontent.
At the beginning of the row in the smoking car, Thorpe laid aside his letter and watched with keen appreciation the direct practicality of the trainmen's method.

When the bearded man fell before the conductor's blow, he turned to the individual at his side.
"He knows how to hit, doesn't he!" he observed.

"That fellow was knocked well off his feet." "He does," agreed the other dryly.
They fell into a desultory conversation of fits and starts.