eight o'clock
`` God bless ye , laddie ! That 's spoken like a man , '' said the old woman , rising from her seat . But John Storm 's pale face had already flushed up to the eyes , and he dropped his head as one who was ashamed . At eight o'clock that night John Storm was walking through the streets of Soho . The bell of a jam factory had just been rung , and a stream of young girls in big hats with gorgeous flowers and sweeping feathers were pouring out of an archway and going arm-in-arm down the pavement . Men standing in groups at street ends shouted to them as they passed , and they shouted back in shrill voices and laughed with wild joy . In an alley round one corner an organ man was playing `` Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay , '' and some of the girls began to dance and sing around him .