twenty-two minutes before eleven
Having come to the climax , he smacked his lips a great many times , and taking a long hearty sniff of the fragrance that was hovering about , put on the cover again with the air of one whose toils on earth were over . ` At what time will it be ready ? ' asked Mr Codlin faintly . ` It 'll be done to a turn , ' said the landlord looking up to the clock -- and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face , and looked a clock for jolly Sandboys to consult -- ` it 'll be done to a turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven . ' ` Then , ' said Mr Codlin , ` fetch me a pint of warm ale , and do n't let nobody bring into the room even so much as a biscuit till the time arrives . ' Nodding his approval of this decisive and manly course of procedure , the landlord retired to draw the beer , and presently returning with it , applied himself to warm the same in a small tin vessel shaped funnel-wise , for the convenience of sticking it far down in the fire and getting at the bright places . This was soon done , and he handed it over to Mr Codlin with that creamy froth upon the surface which is one of the happy circumstances attendant on mulled malt .