half past eight
`` Then you did n't get inside ? '' said he . `` No , '' responded Mr. Smith , `` and I believe that the inside exists only in the imagination of our country folk . '' At half past eight our carriage drew up before the house of the Mayor of Pleasant Garden , where we passed the night . While I strove vainly to sleep , I asked myself if I should not stop there in the village and organize a new ascent . But what better chance had it of succeeding than the first ? The wisest course was , doubtless , to return to Washington and consult Mr. Ward .