Red and Black by Grece S. Richmond — Read

Black was standing in the vestibule of a train which was bringing him back, at a late hour, from the city where he had spent the day at a conference of clergymen. He was somewhat weary, for the day had been filled with long debate over a certain question which had seemed to him vital indeed but not debatable. He had not hesitated to say so, and had been delayed after the evening session was over by men who still wanted to talk it out interminably with him. He had missed his trolley and had therefore taken the train.

As the train drew in Black found himself crowded next to a young man who seemed to be suffering from an excessive nervousness. He was tall and thin, rather handsome of face, but with eyes so deeply shadowed that they suggested extreme and recent illness. His manner was so shaky, as he went down the steps ahead of Black, and he set down his bag upon the platform with such a gesture of supreme fatigue, that Black stopped to find out if he were indeed ill, and if he needed help. At the same moment the stranger looked round at him, and put a question in a quick, breathless voice which indicated both anxiety and difficulty at self-control.