midnight
Randy , in New York , acclaimed by a crowd of enthusiasts who had read his story as a gold nugget picked up from a desert of literary mediocrity . Randy , not knowing himself . Randy , modest beyond belief . Randy , in his hotel at midnight walking the floor with his head held high , and saying to himself , `` I 've done it . '' It seemed to him that , of course , it could not be true . The young editor who had eyed him through shell-rimmed glasses had said , `` There 's going to be a lot of hard work ahead -- to keep up to this -- '' Randy , in his room , laughed at the thought of work . What did hardness matter ?