half past eleven in the
evening
As I sat on a bench in Madison Square after half past eleven in the evening , at the end of one of those mild days that sometimes occur in New York even at the beginning of December , a dog came trotting up to me , stopped at my feet , and whined . There is nothing remarkable in having a strange dog run to one nor in seeing the creature rise on its hind legs and paw at you for notice and a caress . Only , this happened to be an Eskimo dog . It might have been mistaken for a collie or a sheepdog by nearly everybody who saw it , though most men would have turned to admire the softness of its fur and to glance at the heavy collar with the silver studs .