eleven o'clock at night
Once upon a time , when a red lamp had been a novelty , and the power to write `` M. D. '' after his ordinary signature a delicious dignity , a patient had been to him a prodigy , something precious for its rarity , even if it called him away from his dinner or ruthlessly rang him up in the middle of the night . But that was a long time ago , in the days of his impecunious youth ; and now , in his prosperous middle-age , he would often have willingly bartered a good many patients for a little more leisure . This was particularly the case upon a hot , oppressive night a week later , a night such as London generally experiences in August . It was Saturday , and certainly it was not pleasant , after a week of fatiguing work , to be summoned as soon as he had got into his bedroom , at considerably past eleven o'clock at night , to attend a patient who resided somewhere in the wilds of Holloway . However , there was no help for it ; and the Doctor , philosophically resigning himself , and taking care to be sure that his latch-key was in his pocket , spoke a word to Mrs. Jessop , as a precaution against that worthy woman 's putting up the chain of the hall door before she went to bed , and let himself out . It was a fine night , hot as it was , with a large bright moon hardly beginning to wane , and myriads of stars . Doctor Brudenell , as good and quick a walker now as he had been twenty years before , thought lightly of the distance between his own house and that of his patient , and soon reached his destination .