noon
There is no news , or there are no news , either you like to tell . Lavaca Street is very happy and quiet and enjoys life , for Jones was sat on by his Uncle Wash and feels humble and do n't sing any more , and the spirit of peace and repose broods over its halls . Martha rings the matin bell , it seems to me before cock crow or ere the first faint streaks of dawn are limned in the eastern sky by the rosy fingers of Aurora . At noon the foul ogre cribbage stalks rampant , and seven-up for dim , distant oysters that only the eye of faith can see . The hour grows late . The clock strikes ! Another day has vanished .