nine o'clock
muttered Wilbur , with profound disgust . He threw off his oilskin coat and felt in the pocket of his waistcoat -LRB- which he had retained when he had changed his clothes in the fo ` c ` sle -RRB- for his watch . He drew it out . It was just nine o'clock . All at once an idea occurred to him . He fumbled in another pocket of the waistcoat and brought out one of his calling-cards . For a moment Wilbur remained motionless , seated on the bunk-ledge , smiling grimly , while his glance wandered now to the sordid cabin of the `` Bertha Millner '' and the opium-drugged coolie sprawled on the `` donkey 's breakfast , '' and now to the card in his hand on which a few hours ago he had written : `` First waltz -- Jo . ''