Midnight
The color left his face , and the moisture fled his lips . His projected article , his promise to Blix , all the jollity of the afternoon , all thought of time or place , faded away as the one indomitable , evil passion of the man leaped into life within him , and lashed and roweled him with excitement . His world resolved itself to a round green table , columns of tri-colored chips , and five ever-changing cards that came and went and came again before his tired eyes like the changing , weaving colors of the kaleidoscope . Midnight struck , then one o'clock , then two , three , and four . Still his passion rode him like a hag , spurring the jaded body , rousing up the wearied brain . Finally , at half-past four , at a time when Condy was precisely where he had started , neither winner nor loser by so much as a dime , a round of Jack-pots was declared , and the game broke up . Condy walked home to the uptown hotel where he lived with his mother , and went to bed as the first milk-wagons began to make their appearance and the newsboys to cry the morning papers .