nine o'clock
I have all that the heart of man can desire -- the love of this dear wife of mine -- the child asleep within doors -- the printed wisdom of the world in a dozen tongues of men , caught up hap-hazard in what I once , in a failing hour , thought was my wildgoose chase after Truth -- the pride in you , my little Asticot , the son of my adoption -- and the most overpowering sleepiness that ever sat upon mortal eyelid . '' He yawned . I protested . It was barely nine o'clock . `` It is bedtime , '' said Paragot . `` We have to get up at five . '' `` Good Heavens , Master , '' said I , `` why these unearthly hours ? ''