five o'clock
There are no more sea-birds , and the mutineers are starving . Yesterday I talked with Bert Rhine . To-day I talked with him again , and he will never forget , I am certain , the little talk we had this morning . To begin with , last evening , at five o'clock , I heard his voice issuing from between the slits of the ventilator in the after-wall of the chart - house . Standing at the corner of the house , quite out of range , I answered him . `` Getting hungry ? '' I jeered .