nine A.M.
Ever since Mrs. McChesney had come off the road , at the death of old T. A. Buck , to assume the secretaryship of the company which she had served faithfully for ten years , she had set an example for the entire establishment . She was the pacemaker . Every day of her life she figuratively pressed the electric button that set the wheels to whirring . At nine A.M. , sharp , she appeared , erect , brisk , alert , vibrating energy . Usually , the office staff had not yet swung into its gait . In a desultory way , it had been getting into its sateen sleevelets , adjusting its eye-shades , uncovering its typewriter , opening its ledgers , bringing out its files . Then , down the hall , would come the sound of a firm , light , buoyant step .