half past seven
I trust you neither use whiskey , tobacco , nor are ever profane ? '' `` I promised my sainted mother '' -- `` Enough ! Go on with your blacking ; I have to lead the attack on the Pigeon Feet at eight precisely . It is now half past seven '' said the general , consulting a large kitchen clock that stood in the corner of his tent . The little bootblack looked up -- the general was absorbed in his correspondence . The bootblack drew a tin putty-blower from his pocket , took unerring aim , and nailed in a single shot the minute hand to the dial . Going on with his blacking , yet stopping ever and anon to glance over the general 's plan of campaign , spread on the table before him , he was at last interrupted by the entrance of an officer .