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Updated: June 12, 2025
Eleven-thirty had just been tolled by the neighboring clock; deliverance would come when the last form of the morning edition was made up. Until then safety could only be found in constant attack.
The beautiful Silver Special, scheduled to leave each night at eleven-thirty, had been stalled there since the strike began, yet rumor had it that the management meant to launch it southwestward, mails, express, buffet, chair-car, and sleepers complete, if they had to cram its roofs and platforms with deputies armed with Winchesters.
I dropped off No. 6 at eleven-thirty one night at Bakersville. A night office was kept there because it was a good order point and had a water tank. I had never met the night man and knew nothing of him, except that he was a fiery-tempered Irishman named Barry, and a most excellent operator.
By and by I discovered there was no kick at all in one cocktail. One cocktail left me dead. There was no glow, no laughter tickle. Two or three cocktails were required to produce the original effect of one. And I wanted that effect. I drank my first cocktail at eleven-thirty when I took the morning's mail into the hammock, and I drank my second cocktail an hour later just before I ate.
He ran the local garage where Mrs. Bagley bought her car. James went on listening shamelessly. "Late? Phooey. When is eleven-thirty late?" "When it's right now," she replied with a light laugh. "Now, Tim. It's been very " There came a long silence. Her voice was throaty when the silence broke. "Now, will you go?" "Of course," he said. "Not that way, silly," she said. "The door's behind you."
As she was to take the eleven-thirty train she had said a regretful good-bye to Emma before the latter went to her classes. "How I wish you were going with me, Emma," she had sighed.
"Well, perhaps you had better go early next week," she said judiciously. "It would be dreadful if he did return you to the poorhouse." "Therefore, I'm going to-night," announced Bob coolly. "There's an eleven-thirty train from Glenside that will make some sort of connection with the southern local at the Junction. Wish me luck, Betty!" "To-night!" gasped Betty in dismay.
At eleven o'clock wheat stood at seventy-five and one-half; at eleven-thirty, seventy-four and seven-eighths; at twelve, seventy-four. Frye arose, and going to a nearby room, all mirrors and plate-glass, called at the bar for brandy. Two full glasses he tossed off like so much water, and then returned to his watching. Wheat was seventy-three and three-quarters!
This quite delighted him; and he began to explain that if he had not had /dejeuner/ with his comrades that day, it was because some friends had invited him to join them at the railway-station refreshment-room at ten o'clock, and had not given him his liberty until after the departure of the eleven-thirty train. "Ah! the rascals!" he suddenly resumed. "Do you hear them, mademoiselle?"
They got them right, with the drop on them, and it was good-by to the mazuma." "Yes, if they have had any warning or if our plans slip a cog anywhere we shall be repulsed to a certainty." By the light of a moon struggling out from behind rolling clouds Bucky read eleven-thirty on his watch when the party reached Agua Negra.
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