The Cop and the Anthem　

                                                                                                   by  O  Henry

On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily. When wild goose honk high of nights,and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands,and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park,you may know that winter is near at hand. 　　

A dead leaf fell in Soapy’s lap. That was Jack Frost’s card. Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square,and gives fair warning of his annual call. At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind,footman of the mansion of All Outdoors,so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready. 　　

Soapy’s mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour. And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench. 　　

The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises,of soporific Southern skies or drifting in the Vesuvian Bay. Three months on the Island was what his soul craved. Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company,safe from Boreas and bluecoats,seemed to Soapy the essence of things desirable.