eight o'clock
This yard man was a short , fat Dutchman , and we made a team for your whiskers . I carried the sack of salt under my arm , and the quantity of beer we killed before daylight was a caution . About daybreak , the salesman wanted me to go to our hotel and go to bed , but as I never drink and sleep at the same time , I declined . Finally he explained to me that he would have to be at the yards at eight o'clock , and begged me to excuse him . By this time he was several sheets in the wind , while I could walk a chalk line without a waver . Somehow we drifted around to the hotel where the outfit were supposed to be stopping , and lined up at the bar for a final drink . It was just daybreak , and between that Dutch cattle salesman and the barkeeper and myself , it would have taken a bookkeeper to have kept a check on the drinks we consumed -- every one the last .