seven o'clock
Freddie , like Mr Pilkington , was a prey to gloom this morning . He had read one or two of the papers , and they had been disgustingly lavish in their praise of The McWhustle of McWhustle . It made Freddie despair of the New York press . In addition to this , he had been woken up at seven o'clock , after going to sleep at three , by the ringing of the telephone and the announcement that a gentleman wished to see him : and he was weighed down with that heavy-eyed languor which comes to those whose night 's rest is broken . `` Why , how do you do , Mr Rooke ! '' said Mrs Peagrim . `` How-de-do , '' replied Freddie , blinking in the strong light from the window .