They brushed by him, jostling his elbow, and as he went out of the door he heard them exchange jovial greetings with Delaney, Genslinger, and S.Behrman.
Dyke went down the stairs to the street and proceeded onward aimlessly in the direction of the Yosemite House, fingering the yellow envelope and looking vacantly at the sidewalk.
There was a stoop to his massive shoulders.

His great arms dangled loosely at his sides, the palms of his hands open.
As he went along, a certain feeling of shame touched him.

Surely his predicament must be apparent to every passer-by.

No doubt, every one recognised the unsuccessful man in the very way he slouched along.

The young girls in lawns, muslins, and garden hats, returning from the Post Office, their hands full of letters, must surely see in him the type of the failure, the bankrupt.
Then brusquely his tardy rage flamed up.