seven o'clock
It has stayed there , I imagine , because I am the son of my father . At any rate , the problem remains unsolved in my mind . And that , I conclude , is but another evidence of the complete and final triumph of the egg -- at least as far as my family is concerned . Mary Cochran went out of the rooms where she lived with her father , Doctor Lester Cochran , at seven o'clock on a Sunday evening . It was June of the year nineteen hundred and eight and Mary was eighteen years old . She walked along Tremont to Main Street and across the railroad tracks to Upper Main , lined with small shops and shoddy houses , a rather quiet cheerless place on Sundays when there were few people about . She had told her father she was going to church but did not intend doing anything of the kind .