Arthur Hughes The King's Orchard painting

though I'd deemed it flunkèd, in West Campus anyhow, not to assist him, I also recognized the final futility of assistance, and so tarried no longer.
"Wait!" he cried more desperately. "It's earlier than you think; I can tell by the moonshadows! It's only quarter till ten!"
Sure enough, Tower Clock sounded the three-quarter melody as he spoke, and if the coming hour was indeed ten, it was not so late as I'd have supposed. But that fact was of no importance to me.
"Ha!" the student leader exclaimed. "Hear that? Quarter till! Much obliged, old man!" And laughing at their adversary's inadvertent gift, which it plainly chagrined him to have bestowed, they left him in peace, for the time being at least -- except one small faction opposed to private charity and another to the forcible extortion of information, both of whom now laid on with their placards.
"Aren't you going to re-advise him?" Stoker demanded sarcastically.
I knew what reply to make; but just then the Great-Mall streetlights -- those