eight
o'clock
`` Joe Louden all right , '' he said , reassuringly . `` Ain ' nuffum happen to him ! Nigh as I kin mek out f 'm de TALK , dat Happy Fear gone on de ramPAGE ag ` in , an ' dey hatta sent fer Mist ' Louden to come in a hurry . '' As upon a world canopied with storm , hung with mourning purple and habited in black , did Mr. Flitcroft turn his morning face at eight o'clock antemeridian Monday , as he hied himself to his daily duty at the Washington National Bank . Yet more than the merely funereal gloomed out from the hillocky area of his countenance . Was there not , i ` faith , a glow , a Vesuvian shimmer , beneath the murk of that darkling eye ? Was here one , think you , to turn the other cheek ?