ten o'clock
Brisport seemed unusually lively this morning . The streets were crowded with people . I wormed my way down Waterloo Street through the old Square and past Crabbe 's house . The cathedral bells were chiming ten o'clock as I reached the above-mentioned little dock with the iron swinging bridge . A man was standing on the bridge leaning over the balustrades . There was no mistaking the heart-broken hat rim and the spectacles of Thomas Waterhouse Crabbe , M.B. I passed him without sign of recognition , dawdled a little on the quay , and then sauntered down to the boathouse . Our friend of yesterday was standing at the door with a short pipe in his mouth .