eight
o'clock
Jotted about here and there on the stage were octopus-limbed trees with magenta leaves growing in flower pots all covered with bilious blobs . Stan Mosely did n't profess to understand it , but having been assured by the designer that it was art nouveau , which also he did n't understand , he was wholly satisfied . Not so the stage director , whose language in describing the effect it had upon him would have done credit to a gunman under the influence of cheap brandy and fright . The rehearsal , which had commenced at eight o'clock , had been hung up for a time considerable enough to allow him to give vent to his sentiments . The pause enabled Mosely , squatting frog-wise in the middle of the orchestra stalls , to surround himself with several women whose gigantic proportions were horribly exposed to the eye . The rumble of his voice and the high squeals of their laughter clashed with the sounds of the vitriolic argument on the stage , and the noises of a bored band , in which an oboe was giving a remarkable imitation of a gobbling turkey cock , and a cornet of a man blowing his nose . The leader of the band was pacing up and down the musicians ' room , saying to himself : `` Zis is ze last timer .