"He put down the watch and tilted his chair, leaning back on it."
"Oh, that is Rupert Bowman, our ticket-collector," I said, foolishly ashamed that anybody so plain and awkward should be a friend of ours.
Rupert walked straight in at the open door, as he always did. When he saw Mr. Russell sitting at our table, holding the gold watch, and me standing near, his face grew as black as midnight. He scowled at Mr. Russell, and shuffled more than ever.
What a contrast the two were, to be sure!
"I say, Kitty—" he burst out.
Then he stopped. I knew why. I didn't like him to speak so to me before Mr. Russell. It sounded rude; and, besides, I did not like him to seem so much at home—calling me by my name, and putting on that angry manner, as if I was a child to be scolded! Well, I was but a silly lass, and my head had been pretty well turned that day.
I suppose I showed pretty plainly what I thought. Rupert always said I could toss my head, and could be scornful, for all I was so humble and bashful. Not that I was humble really, only folks said it of me.
Mr. Russell showed plainly what he felt too. He put down the watch and tilted his chair, leaning back on it, and he fixed his eyes hard upon Rupert, lifting his eyebrows with a sort of disdain, as if he was looking down upon a lower animal altogether.
I don't now think that kind of manner from one man to another anything grand, and I know well enough it is not gentlemanly. A true gentleman is kind and courteous all round, just as much to those beneath him as to those above him.