six o'clock
the : '' ` Oly estate of materimony ! '' The empty bottle smashed for luck , the couple departed arm-in-arm , carrying their purchases in the sack ; and the rest of the company trooped to the door with them , to wish them joy . Within the narrow confines of the tent , where red-herrings trailed over moleskin-shorts , and East India pickles and Hessian boots lay on the top of sugar and mess-pork ; where cheeses rubbed shoulders with tallow candles , blue and red serge shirts , and captain 's biscuits ; where onions , and guernseys , and sardines , fine combs , cigars and bear 's - grease , Windsor soap , tinned coffee and hair oil , revolvers , shovels and Oxford shoes , lay in one grand miscellany : within the crowded store , as the afternoon wore on , the air grew rank and oppressive . Precisely at six o'clock the bar was let down across the door , and the storekeeper withdrew to his living-room at the back of the tent . Here he changed his coat and meticulously washed his hands , to which clung a subtle blend of all the strong-smelling goods that had passed through them . Then , coming round to the front , he sat down on the log and took out his pipe . He made a point , no matter how brisk trade was , of not keeping open after dark .