astwhereitwasnotsonoisy.HewenttowardsMadisonSquare,forthehomeinstinctremainsevenwhenthehomeisaparkbench.
ButonaquietcornerSoapystoppedbeforeanoldchurch.Throughonewindowasoftlightglowed,where,nodoubt,theorganistplayedaSundayanthem.FortherecametoSoapy'searssweetmusicthatcaughtandheldhimattheironfence.
Themoonwasshiningcarsandpedestrianswerefewbirdstwitteredsleepilyundertheroof.AndtheanthemthattheorganistplayedcementedSoapytotheironfence,forhehadknownitwellinthedayswhenhislifecontainedsuchthingsasmothersandrosesandambitionsandfriends.
TheinfluenceofthemusicandtheoldchurchproducedasuddenandwonderfulchangeinSoapy'ssoul.Hesawwithhorrorthepitintowhichhehadfallen.Hethoughtofhisdegradeddays,deadhopesandwreckedfaculties.
Andalsoinamomentastrongimpulsemovedhimtobattlewithhisdesperatefate.Hewouldpullhimselfoutofthispithewouldmakeamanofhimselfagain.Therewastimehewasyoungyet.Thosesweetorgannoteshadsetuparevolutioninhim.Tomorrowhewouldbesomebodyintheworld.Hewould-
Soapyfeltahandonhisarm.Helookedquicklyaroundintothebroadfaceofapoliceman.
"Whatareyoudoinghere?"askedthepoliceman.
"Nothing,"saidSoapy.
"Thencomealong,"saidthepoliceman.
"ThreemonthsontheIsland,"saidtheMagistrateinthePoliceCourtthenextmorning.