six o'clock
They crossed muddy Main Street , passed Wilkins 's Furniture and Coffin Parlours , and went into the shabby French restaurant known as Mussoo 's . The little eating house , with its cheap , white-painted shop window , looking directly upon the sidewalk , its pyramid of oyster shells cascading from a box set by the entrance , its jangling bell that the opening door set to clanging , its dingy cash register , damp tablecloths , and bottles of red catsup , was not a place to which Monroe residents pointed with pride . Martie would ordinarily have passed it as one unaware of its existence . But it seemed a thoroughly daring and exciting thing to come here to-night ; quite another thing from going to the hotel for vanilla ice cream and chocolate -- even supposing the hotel had kept its dining room open for a change , after the six o'clock supper -- or to Bonestell 's for banana specials . This -- this was living ! Martie established herself comfortably in the corner , slipped off her coat , smiled lazily at Rodney 's obvious manipulation of the party so that he should be next her , played with her hot , damp , blackened knife and fork , and was in paradise . Ida Parker was in the party , and Florence Frost .