five o'clock
Suddenly Mr. Flint enters , and Tim is necessitated to swallow the core of his russet without that usual preparatory mastication which nature 's kindly law suggests . Mr. Flint has made a capital bargain on ` Change , and his face is lighted up with a smile , if fancy can coax such an expression into one . It looks like a gas-light in an undertaker 's window . It is five o'clock . Mr. Flint goes home to doze over a diminutive glass of sherry . He holds it up between his eyes and the light , smiling to see the liquid jewels , and wishes that they were real rubies . Flint !