fifteen minutes past three o'clock
`` Head or heart -- which ? '' he murmured . `` That man is in a bad way . '' There was an air of supreme content upon the usually impassive face of Arthur Ferris when he hung the receiver of the public telephone up upon its hook , at precisely fifteen minutes past three o'clock , in the office of Taylor 's Hotel . The astonished girl gazed admiringly after the young lawyer , when he dropped a two-dollar bill into her hand , saying , `` Never mind the change . '' `` It 's my lucky day , '' murmured Ferris , as he sought the telegraph office . The measured words of Accountant Somers were still ringing in his ears : `` A very quiet election ; no opposition to our ticket .