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For years the hospitable Blackwell’s had been his winter quarters. Just as his more fortunate fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter,so Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island. And now the time was come. On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers,distributed beneath his coat,about his ankles and over his lap,had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square. So the Island loomed large and timely in Soapy’s mind. He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city’s dependents. In Soapy’s opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy. There was an endless round of institutions,municipal and eleemosynary,on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life. But to one of Soapy’s proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered. If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy. As Cesar had his Brutus,every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath,every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition. Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law,which though conducted by rules,does not meddle unduly with a gentleman’s private affairs. Soapy,having decided to go to the Island,at once set about accomplishing his desire. There were many easy ways of doing this. The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant; and then,after declaring insolvency,be handed over quietly and without uproar to a policeman. An accommodating magistrate would do the rest. | 
发表于 2012-10-24 21:26
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