half past twelve
Vivace brightened up , too , and he took me out , rather than I him . I was in such a hurry to get away , for fear Potter might have come after me by a quick train , and be looking somewhere , that I flew along with my bag and Vivace , without waiting for a porter . I followed other people out of the station , with the intention of finding a cab and driving to the Club where Mr. Brett was employed ; but though there were dozens of hansoms drawn up by the pavement , they had the air of being private ones . It did seem queer that so many people should have private hansoms waiting for them at this particular hour -LRB- it was half past twelve -RRB- but the drivers with their tall shiny hats , smart coats and bright , clever faces , the glitter of the harness , the newness of the cab linings and appointments all forbade any other thought . I wandered wistfully along the line , wondering if there were no public conveyances of any kind at the Grand Central , besides the trams which were as appalling as a procession of African lions . When I came to the end I caught the eye of a well-groomed young man in a pale gray top coat , looking down from his high seat at the back of a dark green hansom with great round portholes knocked in the sides , and it struck me that there was pity kindling in his glance . I snatched at the ray as if it had been that everlasting straw which always seems to be bobbing about when an author is drowning one of his characters . ''