midnight
There is room next , in New York , for a movement that shall secure to the fireman 's faithful friend the grateful reward of a quiet farm , a full crib , and a green pasture to the end of its days , when it is no longer young enough and strong enough to `` run with the machine . '' John Gavin was to blame -- there is no doubt of that . To be sure , he was out of a job , with never a cent in his pockets , his babies starving , and notice served by the landlord that day . He had travelled the streets till midnight looking for work , and had found none . And so he gave up . Gave up , with the Employment Bureau in the next street registering applicants ; with the Wayfarers ' Lodge over in Poverty Gap , where he might have earned fifty cents , anyway , chopping wood ; with charities without end , organized and unorganized , that would have sat upon and registered his case , and numbered it properly . With all these things and a hundred like them to meet their wants , the Gavins of our day have been told often enough that they have no business to lose hope .