The Miser Turned Upon Me

She turned upon me, as a miser might turn if anyone attempted to assist him in counting his gold. The young man had slung onto his person a decidedly shabby upper garment and erecting himself before the blaze looked down on me from the corner of his eyes. His thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were in browns like those of a common laborer. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not.