five o'clock
As a matter of fact , neither was the case ; Robert was merely fractious , and in that particular mood when he wished to have his mind imperceptibly made up for him , while prepared to combat any direct suggestion . From what quarter the ignoble proposition that we should go home arose is immaterial . It is enough to say that Robert believed it to be his own , and that , before he had time to reconsider the question , the tactful Croppy had crammed the old white horse into the shafts of the car . It was by this time past five o'clock , and a threatening range of clouds was rising from seaward across the west . Things had been against us from the first , and if the last stone in the sling of Fate was that we were to be wet through before we got home , it would be no more than I expected . The old horse , however , addressed himself to the eight Irish miles that lay between him and home with unexpected vivacity . We swung in the ruts , we shook like jellies on the merciless patches of broken stones , and Croppy stimulated the pace with weird whistlings through his teeth , and heavy prods with the butt of his whip in the region of the borrowed breeching .