three o'clock
Wealth has n't made me a solemn ass , fenced in and unapproachable . The custom of receiving obedience and flattery and admiration has not made me a turkey-cock . Life is a joke ; and when the joke 's on me , I laugh as heartily as when it 's on the other fellow . It is half-past three o'clock on a May afternoon ; a dismal , dreary rain is being whirled through the streets by as nasty a wind as ever blew out of the east . You are in the private office of that `` king of kings , '' Henry J. Roebuck , philanthropist , eminent churchman , leading citizen and -- in business -- as corrupt a creature as ever used the domino of respectability . That office is on the twelfth floor of the Power Trust Building -- and the Power Trust is Roebuck , and Roebuck is the Power Trust . He is seated at his desk and , thinking I do not see him , is looking at me with an expression of benevolent and melancholy pity -- the look with which he always regarded any one whom the Roebuck God Almighty had commanded Roebuck to destroy .