Fifteen minutes past ten
If any man ever did deserve two breakfast cups brimful of whisky , neat , before turning in , it was old , walrus-moustached , weather-battered , baby-eyed , sour-dough Jake , in the small , early hours of that Sabbath morning . I slept that night like a dead thing , and the sun was high in the heavens before I opened my eyes and became conscious again of my surroundings . I looked over at the clock . Fifteen minutes past ten ! I threw my legs over the side of the bed , ashamed of my sluggardliness . Then I remembered , -- it was Sunday morning . Oh !