9 P.M.
The man distributing mail was a small , pompous , fat Englishman . I recognized McGlynn coming slowly down with the line , and paid him half the dust in my bag . As McGlynn reached the window , the glass in it slammed shut , and the clerk thrust a card against it . '' _ Mails close at 9 P.M. _ '' McGlynn tapped at the glass , received no attention , and commenced to beat a tattoo . The window was snatched open , and the fat clerk , very red , thrust his face in the opening . `` What do you want ? '' he demanded truculently .