four o’clock
`` She owes it to me . '' Hopelessly he turned back into Broadway again and slopped onward and away , begging , crying , losing track of his thoughts , one after another , as a mind decayed and disjointed is wont to do . It was truly a wintry evening , a few days later , when his one distinct mental decision was reached . Already , at four o'clock , the sombre hue of night was thickening the air . A heavy snow was falling -- a fine picking , whipping snow , borne forward by a swift wind in long , thin lines . The streets were bedded with it -- six inches of cold , soft carpet , churned to a dirty brown by the crush of teams and the feet of men . Along Broadway men picked their way in ulsters and umbrellas .