On his bench in Madison Square, Soapy moved
uneasily. Winter was coming and it was the time for him to look for shelter.
Soapy's desires were not great. Three months in prison was what he wanted.
There he was sure of a little food and a bed, safe from the winter wind and the
cold.
For years prison had been his shelter during
the winter. Now the time had come again. And that is why he moved uneasily on
his bench.
Having decided to go to prison, Soapy at once
set about fulfilling his desire.
There were many easy ways of doing this. The
most pleasant was to dine well at some expensive restaurant, and then, after
saying that he could not pay, be quietly arrested by a policeman and sent to
prison by the judge.
Soapy got up and walked out of the square and
across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flew together.
He stopped at the window of a brightly lit cafe. Soapy was shaven, and his coat and tie were decent. But his boots and trousers were shabby. If he could reach a table in the restaurant and nobody saw him, he thought, success would be his. The upper part of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted duck, two bottles of wine, a cup of coffee, and a cigar would make him happy for the journey to his winter quarters.
He stopped at the window of a brightly lit cafe. Soapy was shaven, and his coat and tie were decent. But his boots and trousers were shabby. If he could reach a table in the restaurant and nobody saw him, he thought, success would be his. The upper part of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted duck, two bottles of wine, a cup of coffee, and a cigar would make him happy for the journey to his winter quarters.
But just as Soapy entered the restaurant
door, the head waiter's eyes fell upon his shabby trousers and boots. Strong
hands turned him round and pushed him to the sidewalk.
