eleven o'clock
`` End ? '' cried Morty , putting his arm around my waist as though he now had a right to . `` It 's only the reorganization of a splendid old concern , and for fourteen hundred kisses I am going to let you in on the ground floor ! '' It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon , and on the veranda of Mrs. Hemingway 's house three young girls were gathered in conversation . Below them a garden ran to the water 's edge and gave access to a wooden pier projecting some thirty or forty feet beyond . Here , in a mimic harbor formed by a sharp turn of the shore and a line of piles on which the pier was supported , rode the Hemingway fleet at its moorings : a big half-decked catboat , a gasoline launch , an Indian canoe and two trim gigs . Here , too , under the kindly lee of a small boat-house , the Hemingway crew lay stretched in slumber , his head pillowed on an ancient jib , and his still-smoking pipe fallen from his unconscious lips .