ten o'clock
But if he 's no good , I lose five hundred , all right , '' and he sloped away to his duties . For it was the Hon. Sam who was master of ceremonies that day . He was due now to read the Declaration of Independence in a poplar grove to all who would listen ; he was to act as umpire at the championship base-ball game in the afternoon , and he was to give the `` Charge '' to the assembled knights before the tournament . At ten o'clock the games began -- and I took the Blight and the little sister down to the `` grandstand '' -- several tiers of backless benches with leaves for a canopy and the river singing through rhododendrons behind . There was jumping broad and high , and a 100-yard dash and hurdling and throwing the hammer , which the Blight said were not interesting -- they were too much like college sports -- and she wanted to see the base-ball game and the tournament . And yet Marston was in them all -- dogged and resistless -- his teeth set and his eyes anywhere but lifted toward the Blight , who secretly proud , as I believed , but openly defiant , mentioned not his name even when he lost , which was twice only . `` Pretty good , is n't he ? ''