the hour of
twelve
He looked at his watch . It was a quarter of twelve . They had been travelling for half an hour and he figured that the divisional point ahead would be reached by midnight . It seemed a very short time after that when he heard the tiny bell in his watch tinkle off the hour of twelve . The last strokes were drowned in a shrill blast of the engine whistle , and a moment later he caught the dull glow of lights in the hollow of a wide curve the train was making . Father Roland had told him the train would wait at this point fifteen minutes , and even now he heard the clanging of handbells announcing the fact that hot coffee , sandwiches , and ready-prepared suppers were awaiting the half-starved passengers . The trucks grated harshly , the whirring groan of the air-brakes ran under him like a great sigh , and suddenly he was looking down into the face of a pop-eyed man who was clanging a bell , with all the strength of his right arm , under his window , and who , with this labour , was emitting a husky din of `` Supper -- supper ` ot an ' ready at the Royal '' in his vain effort to drown the competition of a still more raucous voice that was bellowing : '' ` Ot steaks _ an ' _ liver 'n onions at the Queen Alexandry ! ''