five minutes past three
There was another at two-twenty . It was ten minutes past three when she burst into the outer offices of the Acme Publishing Company , her lips trembling with a prepared apology she had hardly the breath for . An office boy brought her out an immediate message . Her place had been filled at five minutes past three . All the way down Second Avenue she was inclined somehow to laugh . She found herself finally in the Swedish bakery and lunch room , ordering , without appetite , but with a growing sense of need of food , a dish of rice pudding and a cup of coffee . She broke into the only remaining bill in her pocket , leaving a five-cent tip beside her saucer , and pouring , with quite a little jangling , one dollar and eighty-five cents back into her purse .