There were eddies of turbulent spirits.

A crowd in America is unlike any other.

It is full of meanness, rowdyism, petty malice.

A big fellow, smelling of bad whisky, shouldered Killigrew aside, roughly.

Killigrew's Irish blood flamed.
"Here! Look where you're going!" he cried.
The man reached back and jammed Killigrew's hat down over his eyes.
Killigrew stumbled and fell, and Crawford and Forbes surged to his rescue from the trampling feet.