eight o'clock
At six o'clock there were still stars , but a coral tremor was against the sky line and clouds coming up furiously . Suddenly she realized that the clouds were mountains and that the flat territory had flowed through the night into Pennsylvania mountains that were like plunging waves , and with the changed physiognomy , her mood quickened . She would not wait for the sun , dressing in her berth . At eight o'clock , and for only the third time in her life , she breakfasted in a dining car . It was well crowded , the old man in the skull cap across the aisle from her gouging out an orange . She ordered with a sense of novelty and thrift , passing on from grilled spring chicken , bar-le-duc , and honey-dew melon to eggs and bacon . A drummer with a gold-mounted elk 's tooth dangling from his chain ogled her , so she sat very prim of back , gazing out over flying villages that were like white-pine toys cut in the cisalpine Alps and invitingly more clipped and groomed than the straggling Indiana towns of yesterday .