Kitabı oku: «Рассказы / Short Stories», sayfa 4

“Of course it’s mine,” said Soapy, viciously.

The umbrella man walked away. The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde to cross the road.

Soapy was really angry now. He threw the umbrella away. He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs. He wanted to go to prison, and they regard him as a king who could do nothing wrong.

He began to walk back to Madison Square and home – his park bench. But on a quiet corner, Soapy suddenly stopped. Here was an old church. Through a purple window a soft light glowed, and sweet music was coming from inside the church.

The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrians were few – and the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for Soapy remembered other, happier days. He thought of the days when he had a mother, and friends, and beautiful things in his life.

The music from the old church made a sudden and wonderful change in his soul. He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, and dead hopes.

And then a wonderful thing happened. Soapy decided to change his life and be a new man. He will pull himself out of the mire; he will conquer the evil that had taken possession of him.

A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver. He will find him tomorrow and ask for the position. He will be somebody in the world. He will —

Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman.

“What are you doing here?” asked the officer.

“Nothing,” said Soapy.

“Then come along,” said the policeman.

“Three months on the Island,” said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.