nine
o'clock
He called all his old employees by their first names , and unless there rose a question of fidelity , he would no sooner have thought of discharging one of them than he would have thought of going home and discharging his wife . Some of the older ones , indeed , antedated Mr. Wintermuth himself , and still regarded him with the kindly tolerance of the days when they were the _ cognoscenti _ , and he the neophyte , learning the ropes at their hands . One of the oldest in tenure , but a man incurably young for all that , was James Cuyler , the head of the company 's local department , in charge of all the business of the Metropolitan District , and an underwriter as well known to the fraternity as the asphalt pavement of the street . The Guardian 's local department , which occupied the entire first floor of the building , except the elevator space , was a busy place from nine o'clock till five on ordinary days and from nine till one on Saturdays . Hour after hour , day after day , year after year , Mr. Cuyler stood behind his long map counter , his genial but penetrating eye instantly assessing each man that approached , sifting with quick glance the business offered , and detecting almost automatically any trick or `` joker '' in that which his visitors presented . Most of the men across the counter naturally were brokers or their placing clerks , armed with binders on risks of all kinds , some good and many more bad , for the good risks are usually snapped up in large amounts by the first companies to whom they are taken , but the bad ones make their weary and often fruitless tour of the entire street . All of them , the good and bad alike , the placers commonly presented to Mr. Cuyler with a bland innocence which deceived that astute veteran not at all .