eleven o'clock
And then , presently , to hear the voice of the greatest half-back the varsity had boasted of in years , saying in answer to her `` Hello , Harry , '' `` Hello , Rose . '' It was really less than a year , and yet it was so immensely long ago , judged by anything but the calendar , that the natural way to think of him was as a married man with a family somewhere and faint memories of the days when he was a student and used to flirt with a girl called Rose something -- Rose Stanton , that was it ! It was during one of the interminable waking hours of last night that she had thought of the half-back as a person who might be able , and willing , to do her the service she wanted , and she had spent a long while wondering how she could get track of him . Then the logic of the calendar had forced the conviction on her , that he was , in all probability still at the university , dozing through recitations , or lounging about the corridors , in a blue serge suit and a sweater with a C on it , waiting for some other girl to come out of her class-room ; and that between the hours of ten-fifteen and eleven , it was altogether likely that she 'd find him again , as she had so many times in the past , at his fraternity house , going through the motions of getting up an eleven o'clock recitation . It was absurd enough now to find herself calling the old number and asking again for Mr. Haines . The dreamlike unreality of it grew stronger , when the voice that answered said , `` Just a minute , '' and then bellowed out his old nickname -- `` Hello , Tiny ! Phone ! ''