On his bench in Madison Square, Soapy moved uneasily. When the wild geese 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 people of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call. At the corners of four streets he hands his card to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants may make ready.
    Soapy's mind became aware of the fact that the time had come for him to make himself into a singular Committee of Ways And Means to provide against the coming cold. And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench.
    The ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of 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 friendly company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed desirable to Soapy.
    For years the hospitable Blackwells had been his winter quarters. Just as his more fortunate New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riveria each winter, so Soapy made his humble arrangements for his annual trip to the Island. And now the time was come. On the previous night three 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 spouting fountain in the ancient square. So the Island loomed big 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 helpful than Philanthropy. There was and endless round of institutions that he can receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life. But to one of Soapy's proud spirits the gifts of charity are hard to bare. If not in coin you must pay in humiliation o spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy. Every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of charity bread its compensation of a private and personal investigation. 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 are many easy ways to do this. The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant and then after, declaring himself penniless, to be handed over quitely 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 sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together. Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering cafe, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm, and the protoplasm.
    Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward, He was shaven, and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready tied four-in-hand had been presented 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 raise 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 demitasse and a cigar. One dollar for the cigar would be enough. The total would not be so high as to call forth any real revenge from the cafe management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.
    But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed trousers and worn shoes. Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in silence and haste to the sidewalk.
    Soapy turned off Broadway. It seems that his route to the coveted Island was not to be an epicurean one. Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.