nine o'clock
`` That she can , '' cried the mother , going to her `` mixin ' . '' `` And what a gay supper it will be -- with the new dolly and the pretty beads and the dumplin 's . Oh , Himself a foreman ! '' Promptly at nine o'clock , young Dale Lynch turned the key in the door of `` Tony Sebastino , Groceries '' and started , whistling , homeward . Three times a week , from the close of school until nine o'clock , he worked in the store , snatching a dinner of bananas , or bread and cheese , between customers . Because `` Mom '' had whispered that there were to be `` dumplin 's '' this night and that she would keep some warm for him , and because the wind whipped chillingly through his thin clothing , he broke into a run . His homeward way led him past a bit of open triangle which in the neighborhood was dignified by the name of park , a dreary place now , dirty straw stacked about the fountain , dry leaves and papers cluttering the brown earth and whipping against the iron palings of the fence .