a quarter to eleven
For hour after hour there was scarce a sound , save the rattle of the dice and an occasional exclamation from the old man as he threw a double-six . As dusk fell , the door had been shut and a lighted lantern was hung over their heads . Fortune had fluctuated . Once the old man 's pile had diminished to two notes , then the luck had changed and his pile grew larger ; then fell again ; but , as the hands of the clock on the wall above the blue medicine bottles reached a quarter to eleven , it increased steadily throw after throw . Now the player 's fever was in Rawley 's eyes . His face was deadly pale , but his hand threw steadily , calmly , almost negligently , as it might seem . All at once , at eight minutes to eleven , the luck turned in his favor , and his pile mounted again .