ten o'clock
`` I 've got to stay here and make money . '' Good-by to the Beautiful City of Grays . A clock in an outer room struck five . In Paris it was ten o'clock , and those friends of mine from all countries were crowding into `` The Dirty Spoon . '' I could see them sauntering one by one on that summer 's night down the gay old Boulevard Saint Michel and dropping into their seats at the table in the corner . `` How am I to make money ? By writing ? ''