eight o'clock
McGregor was touched by it . Being confused by the matter of sex he had listened to the advice of the barber and meant to settle things in the cheap way . One evening a month after the talk in the park he hurried along Lake Street on the West Side with that end in view . It was near eight o'clock and growing dark and McGregor should have been at the night school . Instead he walked along the street looking at the ill-kept frame houses . A fever burned in his blood . An impulse , for the moment stronger than the impulse that kept him at work over books night after night there in the big disorderly city and as yet stronger than any new impulse toward a vigorous compelling march through life , had hold of him .