noon
When he had dallied through breakfast that particular morning he sat about . Once he had pictured sitting about reading travel-books as a perfect occupation . But it concealed no exciting little surprises when he could be a Sunday loafer on any plain Monday . Furthermore , Goaty never made his bed till noon , and the gray-and-brown-patched coverlet seemed to trail all about the disordered room . Midway in a paragraph he rose , threw _ One Hundred Ways to See California _ on the tumbled bed , and ran away from Our Mr. Wrenn . But Our Mr. Wrenn pursued him along the wharves , where the sun glared on oily water . He had seen the wharves twelve times that fortnight .