six o'clock
Some one called : `` Slow up there , now , '' and then the door opened . It was push and jam for a minute , with grim , beast silence to prove its quality , and then it melted inward , like logs floating , and disappeared . There were wet hats and wet shoulders , a cold , shrunken , disgruntled mass , pouring in between bleak walls . It was just six o'clock and there was supper in every hurrying pedestrian 's face . And yet no supper was provided here -- nothing but beds . Hurstwood laid down his fifteen cents and crept off with weary steps to his allotted room . It was a dingy affair -- wooden , dusty , hard .