eight
o'clock
He flitted down once more to the negro , to ask him of a certain wooden show-house , with section sides and roof , an old travelling theatre which stood closed on Selverhay Common , and might probably be sold . He pressed across once more to Mr. Bows . He wrote various letters and drew up certain notes . And the next morning , by eight o'clock , he was on his way to Selverhay : walking , poor man , the long and uninteresting seven miles on his small and rather tight-shod feet , through country that had been once beautiful but was now scrubbled all over with mining villages , on and on up heavy hills and down others , asking his way from uncouth clowns , till at last he came to the Common , which was n't a Common at all , but a sort of village more depressing than usual : naked , high , exposed to heaven and to full barren view . There he saw the theatre-booth . It was old and sordid-looking , painted dark-red and dishevelled with narrow , tattered announcements . The grass was growing high up the wooden sides .