midnight
He coiled himself away on chain-cables in marine junk-shops , asking questions with cheerful , unslaked Western curiosity , till all the water-front wanted to know `` what in thunder that man was after , anyhow . '' He prowled into the Mutual Insurance rooms , and demanded explanations of the mysterious remarks chalked up on the blackboard day by day ; and that brought down upon him secretaries of every Fisherman 's Widow and Orphan Aid Society within the city limits . They begged shamelessly , each man anxious to beat the other institution 's record , and Cheyne tugged at his beard and handed them all over to Mrs. Cheyne . She was resting in a boarding-house near Eastern Point -- a strange establishment , managed , apparently , by the boarders , where the table-cloths were red-and-white-checkered and the population , who seemed to have known one another intimately for years , rose up at midnight to make Welsh rarebits if it felt hungry . On the second morning of her stay Mrs. Cheyne put away her diamond solitaires before she came down to breakfast . `` They 're most delightful people , '' she confided to her husband ; `` so friendly and simple , too , though they are all Boston , nearly . '' `` That is n't simpleness , Mama , '' he said , looking across the boulders behind the apple-trees where the hammocks were slung .