about midnight
Oh , the moods of that terrible Boy ! No two the same and none to be relied on ! Sometimes he was like a wild creature , there was no holding him , no knowing what he would do next ; and the Tenor used to tremble lest he should carry out one of his impossible threats , among which serenading the dean , upsetting the chime , climbing the cathedral spire on the outside , or throwing stones at the stained-glass saints in the great west window , were intentions so often expressed that there seemed some likelihood of one or other of them being eventually put into execution . Then again he would saunter in about midnight , and sit down in a dejected attitude , looking unutterably miserable ; he would hardly answer when the Tenor spoke to him , and if he did not speak he resented it ; neither would he eat , nor drink , nor make music , and if the Tenor sang he sometimes burst into tears . On other occasions he was the most commonplace creature imaginable . He would talk about a book he had been reading , a new picture his `` people '' had bought , the society in the neighbourhood ; anything , in fact , to which the Tenor would listen , and the latter was often astonished by the acuteness of his perceptions , and the worldly wisdom of his conclusions . The Tenor made every allowance for these changes of mood , which , if they were trying at times -- and certainly they were trying -- were interesting also and amusing .