eleven p.m.
The _ Daily Tribune _ had given nearly a column of praise to _ A Question of Cubits _ , had quoted some choice extracts , had drawn special attention to the wonderful originality of the plot , and asserted that the story was an advance , ` if an advance were possible , ' on the author 's previous book . His mother and Aunt Annie consumed the review at breakfast with an excellent appetite , and lauded the insight of the critic . What had happened at the offices of the _ Daily Tribune _ was this . At the very moment when Henry was dreaming of its reviewer -- namely , half-past eleven p.m. -- its editor was gesticulating and shouting at the end of a speaking-tube : ` Have n't had proof of that review of a book called _ A Question of Cubits _ , or some such idiotic title ! Send it down at once , instantly . Do you hear ? What ?