five o'clock
His imagination constructed and levelled , and rebuilt and remade . One beautiful November afternoon , in his Junior year , at the sound of the last bell , which usually found him cantering out of town , he went instead to the school reading-room , and , sitting down calmly , opened his book and slowly read . The clock ticked off the seconds he was stealing from his father ; counted the minutes that had never belonged to Bill before , but which now tasted like old wine on the palate . He cuddled down , lost to the world until five o'clock , when the building was closed . He left it only to march down a few blocks to the town 's meager library , where another hour flew past . Gradually an empty feeling in his middle region became increasingly insistent , and briefly exploring his pockets , Bill decided upon a restaurant where he bought a stew and rolls for fifteen cents . Never had a supper tasted so satisfying .