four o'clock
Outside Poole 's bookshop there was , of course , Mr. Mockridge . Mr. Mockridge was the poorest of the Canons ; so poor , that it had become a proverb in the place : `` As poor as Mr. Mockridge '' ; and also another proverb , I am afraid , from the same source : `` As dirty as Mr. Mockridge . '' He was a very long , thin man , with a big , pointing nose , coloured red , not from indigestion , and most certainly not from drink , but simply , I think , because the wind caught it . His passion was for books , and he might be seen every afternoon , between three and four o'clock , bending over Poole 's 2d . box , a dirty handkerchief flying out of the tail of his long , black coat , and a green , bulging umbrella , pointing outwards , under his arm , to the infinite danger of all the passers-by . He was so commonplace a figure to Jeremy that , on ordinary days , he was shrouded by an invisibility of tradition . But , to-day , he was fresh and strange .