eleven o'clock
They fancied that he was moaning . But Uncle Chris was not moaning . He was humming a gay snatch from the lighter music of the ` nineties . Up on the roof of his apartment , far above the bustle and clamour of the busy city , Wally Mason , at eleven o'clock on the morning after Mrs. Peagrim 's Bohemian party , was greeting the new day , as was his custom , by going through his ante-breakfast exercises . Mankind is divided into two classes -- those who do setting-up exercises before breakfast and those who know they ought to but do n't . To the former and more praiseworthy class Wally had belonged since boyhood . Life might be vain and the world a void , but still he touched his toes the prescribed number of times and twisted his muscular body about according to the ritual .