He would even get off the sidewalk for a black woman, and would neither tell nor laugh at the sort of stories that pass current about women in some smoking-rooms.

His hair bristled.

His ears stuck out on either side of his head.

He leaned forward--laid one strong brown hand on the desk--and shook his left fist under the collector's nose.
"You poor boob!" he exploded.

Then he calmed himself.