The hour of eight
The preacher was incredibly earnest and unwearied . He had looked over the list of things one may do for one 's fellow man , and had assumed for himself the task of putting to bed all who might apply at his soap box on the nights of Wednesday and Sunday . That left but five nights for other philanthropists to handle ; and had they done their part as well , this wicked city might have become a vast Arcadian dormitory where all might snooze and snore the happy hours away , letting problem plays and the rent man and business go to the deuce . The hour of eight was but a little while past ; sightseers in a small , dark mass of pay ore were gathered in the shadow of General Worth 's monument . Now and then , shyly , ostentatiously , carelessly , or with conscientious exactness one would step forward and bestow upon the Preacher small bills or silver . Then a lieutenant of Scandinavian coloring and enthusiasm would march away to a lodging house with a squad of the redeemed . All the while the Preacher exhorted the crowd in terms beautifully devoid of eloquence -- splendid with the deadly , accusative monotony of truth .