seven P.M.
Jake said maybe so ; maybe it was tropic neurasthenia the waiters got . Ben said he 'd sure look out for a fresh waiter that had n't been infected yet . When I left 'em Jake was holding a split-second watch on the waiter he 'd just given an order to . By seven P.M. I 'd been made into a work of art by the hotel help and might of been observed progressing through the palatial lobby with my purple and gold opera cloak sort of falling away from the shoulders . Jeff Tuttle observed me for one . He was in his dress suit all right , standing over in a corner having a bell-hop tie his tie for him that he never can learn to do himself . That 's the way with Jeff ; he simply was n't born for the higher hotel life .