midnight
I never whimpered . I never let on . I melted the last of my silver spoon -- South Sea cotton , an ' it please you , cacao in Tonga , rubber and mahogany in Yucatan . And do you know , at the end , I slept in Bowery lodging-houses and ate scrapple in East-Side feeding-dens , and , on more than one occasion , stood in the bread-line at midnight and pondered whether or not I should faint before I fed . '' `` And you never squealed to your family , '' Dag Daughtry murmured admiringly in the pause . The Ancient Mariner straightened up his shoulders , threw his head back , then bowed it and repeated , `` No , I never squealed . I went into the poor - house , or the county poor-farm as they call it .