eight o'clock
From door to desk Jock 's eyes swept . The afternoon-tea crowd , in paradise feathers , and furs , and frock coats swam back and forth . He saw it give way to the dinner throng , satin-shod , bejeweled , hurrying through its oysters , swallowing unbelievable numbers of cloudy-amber drinks , and golden-brown drinks , and maroon drinks , then gathering up its furs and rushing theaterwards . He was still sitting there when that crowd , its eight o'clock freshness somewhat sullied , its sparkle a trifle dimmed , swept back for more oysters , more cloudy-amber and golden-brown drinks . At half-hour intervals , then at hourly intervals , the figure in the great chair stirred , rose , and walked to the desk . `` Has Mr. Griebler come in ? '' The supper throng , its laugh a little ribald , its talk a shade high-pitched , drifted towards the street , or was wafted up in elevators .