three o'clock
She became his music , his business , his life . Every little girl , every old woman that he passed in the street , made him think of Julia , and when he passed a young man and woman full of concern for , and of shy pride in , their lumpy baby in its embroidered coat , a wave of divine envy swept Mark from head to foot . To-day he whistled over his work , thinking of Julia . They were to meet at three o'clock , `` just to bum , '' as the girl said , laughing . Mark thought that , as the season was well forward , they might take a car to the park or the beach , but the plan had been left indefinite . He ate his lunch , of butterless bread and sausage , and an entire five-cent pie , in a piano wareroom , taking great bites , with dreamy studying of the walls and long delays between . Then he wandered down through the empty offices -- it was Saturday afternoon and Pomeroy and Parke closed promptly at twelve -- had a brief chat with the Japanese janitor , and washed his hands and combed his hair very conscientiously in the president 's own lavatory .