eleven o'clock
But of the vehicular lad he heard nothing till some hours later , when Labor Commissioner O'Neill , skirting the old park from Centre Street , where he had been for cigars , dropped in on the way back to his office . Even here , the words came first . O'Neill had a `` Post '' in his hand . It was then nearing eleven o'clock . The doctor sat at a tall old `` secretary '' between his windows , swinging round with expectancy as his friend entered . There were still people of a sort , human beings in a manner of speaking , in the waiting-room ; but he let them wait now , that being what the room was for . `` Well ?