twenty-six minutes past ten
That was nine years ago . For the last eight years he had superintended Mallwood . Mr. Plowman had smiled more than ever ... . At twenty-six minutes past ten that February morning he had ascended the broken steps of the old grey mansion , a little curious , perhaps , but , as he would have told you , `` ready for anything . '' There being no bell , he had raised and let fall the great knocker , and then stood still in the sunshine looking placidly about him . The desolation of the park left him unmoved . Money , judiciously expended , could rectify that .