nearly twelve o'clock
in black paint , carpet sweepers , oil stoves , and pink-and-blue glass vases . They went on to the shoe shop , to the grocery , to the post-office , past the express office , where Joe Hawkes sat whittling in the sun . They paused to study with eager interest the flaring posters on the fences that announced the impending arrival of Poulson 's Star Stock Company , for one night only , in `` The Sword of the King . '' They discovered with surprise that it was nearly twelve o'clock , bought five cents ' worth of rusty , sweet , Muscat grapes , to be eaten on the way home , and turned their faces toward the bridge . But the morning , for Martie , had held its golden moment . When they passed the Bank , Sally had been dreaming , as Sally almost always was , but Martie 's eyes had gone from shining gold-lettered window to window , and with that new , sweet suffocation at her heart she had found the object of her searching -- the satiny crest of Rodney Parker 's sleek hair , the fresh-coloured profile that had been in her waking and sleeping thoughts since yesterday . He was evidently hard at work ; indeed he was nervous and discouraged , had Martie but known it ; he did not look up .