noon
Here , doubtless , would some day stand the colossal work of Queed . At the big desk sat the Rev. Mr. Dayne , a practical idealist of no common sort , a kind-faced man with a crisp brown mustache . At the typewriter-table sat Sharlee Weyland , writing firm letters to thirty-one county almshouse keepers . It was hard upon noon . Sharlee looked tired and sad about the eyes . She had not been to supper at Mrs. Paynter 's for months , but she went there nearly every afternoon from the office to see Fifi , who had been in bed for four weeks . The Department door opened , with no premonitory knock , and in walked , of all people , Mr. Queed .