about
three o'clock
The machine moved forward . Herr Schwankmacher , stepping back , fell into the arms of a grinning stoker , and a little native boy , shrieking with fright , ran head-first into the corpulent frame of a merchant who was more stable in his copra business than in his legs . The aeroplane flew up ; the crowd watched its ascension like adoring worshippers of some sky deity ; and in three minutes it was a mere speck in the cloudless blue . Mr. John McMurtrie , editor of the _ Toronto Sphere _ , a capable journalist and a man of many friends , strolled into his office about three o'clock one Wednesday afternoon . His first extra edition was due at four , and it may seem that he had allowed himself a very short time for dealing with fresh items of news that had come to hand since noon ; but he had an excellent assistant , who took a real interest in his work , so that there was no need for the editor to hurry his luncheon or the ensuing cigar . `` Well , Daniels , '' he said genially , as he entered his assistant 's room . He sat across a corner of the table , exhibiting a well-developed calf neatly covered with golfing hose .