three o'clock
His very desk took on a pathetic expression , as of a place that was so soon to know him no more for ever ; and Mr. Smith , wrangling over wet-traps and cesspools at the counter , just as on the first day he had heard him , almost moved him to tears . Perhaps in ten years ' time , were he to come back , he would find him still at his post , fervidly engaged in the same altercations , with only a little additional greyness at the temples to mark the lapse of time . And Jenkins would still be sitting in the little screened-off cupboard , with `` cashier '' painted on the glass window . As three o'clock approached , he would still be heard loudly counting his cash and shovelling the gold into wash-leather bags , and the silver into little paper-bags marked £ 5 apiece , in a wild rush to reach the bank before it closed . And would the same good fellows , a little more serious , because long since married , be cracking jokes and loafing near the fire-guard , in some rare safe hour , of the afternoon when all the partners were out , to make a spring for the desks , as the carefully learnt tread of one or another of those partners followed the opening of the front door . The very work that he hated seemed to wear an unwonted look of tenderness . Who would keep the books he had kept -- with something of his father 's neatness ; who would look after the accounts of `` the Rev. Thomas Salthouse , '' or take charge of `` Ex ` ors James Shuttleworth , Esqre '' ?