five o'clock
High time to get to sleep , if I 'm to mix things with Crookes to-morrow . '' But he could not sleep . While the city woke to its multitudinous life below his windows , while the grey light of morning drowned the yellow haze from the gas jet that came through the transom , while the `` early call '' alarms rang in neighbouring rooms , Curtis Jadwin lay awake , staring at the ceiling , now concentrating his thoughts upon the vast operation in which he found himself engaged , following out again all its complexities , its inconceivable ramifications , or now puzzling over the inexplicable numbness , the queer , dull weight that descended upon his brain so soon as he allowed its activity to relax . By five o'clock he found it intolerable to remain longer in bed ; he rose , bathed , dressed , ordered his breakfast , and , descending to the office of the hotel , read the earliest editions of the morning papers for half an hour . Then , at last , as he sat in the corner of the office deep in an armchair , the tired shoulders began to droop , the wearied head to nod . The paper slipped from his fingers , his chin sank upon his collar . To his ears the early clamour of the street , the cries of newsboys , the rattle of drays came in a dull murmur .