the hour of three o'clock p.m.
Even on a Sunday afternoon , and certainly at all hours of a week-day , one could look from windows at good racing , generally done by folk impeded by hand luggage who , as they ran , glanced suspiciously at every clock , and gasped , in a despairing way , `` We shall never do it ! '' or , optimistically , `` We shall only just do it ! '' or , with resignation , `` Well , if we lose this one we shall have to wait for the next . '' Few establishments were open in Praed Street , shutters were up at the numerous second-hand shops , and at the hour of three o'clock p.m. the thirst for journals at E. G. Mills 's -LRB- Established 1875 -RRB- was satisfied ; the appetite for cigars , cigarettes , and tobacco had scarcely begun . Now and again a couple of boys , who had been reading stories of wild adventure in the Rocky Mountains , dashed across the road , upset one of Mrs. Mills 's placard boards , and flew in opposite directions , feeling that although they might not have equalled the daring exploits of their heroes in fiction , they had gone as far as was possible in a country hampered by civilization . `` Young rascals ! '' said Mrs. Mills , coming back after repairing one of these outrages .