2023年4月17日发(作者：硬笔书法作品格式)英语原文
The Cop and the Anthem by O 。Henry
On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily. When wild goo honk high of
nights, and when单项选择
women without alskin 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 wa索隆简笔画
rning 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 himlf
into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour. And therefore
heppt字体大小
moved uneasily on his bench.
The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them were no considerations
of Mediterranean cruis, 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, emed to Soapy the esnce of things
desirable.
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 repul 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 t 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 t 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.
Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level a of asphalt, where
Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together. Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering caf,
where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the
protoplasm.
Soapy had confidence in himlf from the lowest button of his vest upward. He was shaven,
and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-i何岳得金不昧
n-hand had been prented to him by a
lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day. If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected,
success would be his. The portion of him that would show above the table would rai no doubt in
the waiter’s mind. A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing—with a bottle
of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tas and a cigar. One dollar for the cigar would be
enough. The total would not be so high as to call forth any supreme manifestation of revenge from
the caf management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his
winter refuge.
But as Soapy t foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter’s eye fell upon his frayed
trours and decadent shoes. Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in
silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.
Soapy turned off Broadway. It emed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an
epicurean one. Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.
At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass
made a shop window conspicuous. Soapy took a cobble-stone and dashed it through the glass.
People came running round the corner, a policeman in the lead. Soapy stood still, with his hands in
his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons.
“Where’s the man that done that?” inquired the officer excitedly.
“Don’t you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?” said Soapy, not without
sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.
The policeman’s mind refud to accept Soapy even as a clue. Men who smash windows do
not remain to parley with the law’s minions. They take to their heels. The policeman saw a man
halfway down the block running to catch a car. With drawn club he joined in the pursuit. Soapy,
with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.
On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions. It catered to large
appetites and modest purs. Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and napery thin.
Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and tell-tale trours without challenge. At a table he
sat and consumed beefsteak, flap-jacks, doughnuts, and pie. And then to the waiter he betrayed the
fact that the minutest coin and himlf were strangers.
“Now, get busy and call a cop,” said Soapy. “And don’t keep a gentleman waiting.”
“No cop for you,” said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry
in a Manhattan cocktail. “Hey, Con!”
Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy. He aro, joint
by joint, as a carpenter’s rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes. Arrest emed but a rosy
dream. The Island emed very far away. A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors
away laughed and walked down the street.
Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again. This
time the opportunity prented what he fatuously termed to himlf a “cinch.” A young woman of
a modest and pleasing gui was standing before a show window gazing with sprightly interest at
its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two 红楼梦文学常识
yards from the window a large policeman of
vere demeanour leaned against a water-plug.
It was Soapy’s design to assume the rule of the despicable and execrated “masher.” The
refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop
encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm that
would ensure his winter quarters of the right little, tight little isle.
Soapy straightened the lady missionary’s ready-made tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the
open, t his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young women. He made eyes at her简短个人发展计划
, was
taken with sudden coughs and “hems,” smiled, smirked, and went brazenly through the impudent
and contemptible litany of the “masher.” With half an eye Soapy saw that the policeman was
watching him fixedly. The young woman moved away a few steps, and again bestowed her
absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs. Soapy followed, boldly stepping to her side, raid his
hat and said: “Ah there, Bedelia! Don’t you want to come and play in my yard?”
The policeman was still looking. The percuted young woman had but to beckon a finger
and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven. Already he imagined he could feel
the cosy warmth of the station-hou. The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand,
caught Soapy’s coat sleeve.
“Sure, Mike,” she said joyfully, “if you’ll blow me to a pail of suds. I’d have spoke to you
sooner, but the cop was watching.”
With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the policeman
overcome with gloom. He emed doomed to liberty.
At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran. He halted in the district where by
night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows, and librettos. Women in furs and men in
greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air. A sudden fear ized Soapy that some dreadful
enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest. The thought brought a little of panic upon it, and
when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he
caught at the immediate straw of “disorderly conduct.”
On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice. He
danced, howled, raved, and otherwi disturbed the welkin.
The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen: “’Tis one
of them Yale lads celebratin’ the goo egg they give to the Hartford College. Noisy; but no harm.
We’ve instructions to lave them be.”
Disconsolate, Soapy cead his unavailing racket. Would never a policeman lay hands on him?
In his fancy the Island emed an unattainable Arcadia. He buttoned his thin coat against the
chilling wind.
In a cigar store he saw a well-dresd man lighting a cigar at a swinging light. His silk
umbrella he had t by the door on entering. Soapy stepped inside, cured the umbrella and
sauntered off with it slowly. The man at the cigar light followed hastily.
“My umbrella,” he said sternly.
“Oh, is it?” sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny. “Well, why don’t you call a
policeman? I took it. Your umbrella! Why don’t you call a cop? There stands one on the corner.”
The umbrella owner slowed his steps. Soapy did likewi, with a prentiment that luck
would run against him. The policeman looked at the two curiously.
“Of cour,” said the umbrella man—“that is—well, you know how the mistakes
occur—I—if it’s your umbrella I hope you’ll excu me—I picked it up this morning in a
restaurant—If you recogni it as yours, why—I hope you’ll—“
“Of cour it’s mine,” said Soapy viciously.
The ex-umbrella man retreated. The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an opera
cloak across the street in front of a street car that was app采择
roaching two blocks away.
Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements. He hurled the umbrella
wrathfully into an excavation. He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs.
Becau he wanted to fall into their clutches, they emed to regard him as a king who could do no
wrong.
At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil was but
faint. He t his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives even
when the home is a park bench.
But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill. Here was an old church, quaint
and rambling and gabled. Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt,
the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem. For
there drifted out to Soapy’s ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixed against the
convolutions of the iron fence.
The moon was above, lustrous and rene; vehicles and pedestrains were few; sparrows
twittered sleepily in the eaves—for a little while the scene might have been a country churchyard.
And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had k贴春联作文
nown it
well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and ros and ambitions and
friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.
The conjunction of Soapy’s receptive state of mind and the influences about the old church
wrought 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, dead hopes, wrecked faculties, and
ba motives that made up his existence.
And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood. An instantaneous
and strong impul moved him to battle with his desperate fate. He would pull himlf out of the
mire; he would make a man of himlf again; he would conquer the evil that had taken posssion
of him. There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager
ambitions and pursue them without faltering. Tho solemn but sweet organ notes had t up a
revolution in him. Tomorrow he would go into the roaring down-town district and find work. A fur
importer had once offered him a place as driver. He would find him to-morrow and ask for the
pos火车站提前多久进站
ition. He would be somebody in the world. He would—
Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked quickly round into the broad face of a
policeman.
“What are you doin’ 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.
