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When he was there, he ____ go to that coffee shop at he street corner after work every day.

   A. would    B. should     C. had better       D. might

When he was there, he ____ go to that coffee shop at he street corner after work every day.

   A. would    B. should     C. had better       D. might

When he was there, he ____ go to that coffee shop at he street corner after work every day.

   A. would    B. should     C. had better       D. might

When he was there, he ____ go to that coffee shop at he street corner after work every day.

   A. would    B. should     C. had better       D. might

On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily, and he realized the fact that the time had come for him to provide against the coming winter.

The winter ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them there were no dreams of Mediterranean voyages or blue Southern skies. Three months on the Island was what his soul desired. Three months of assured board and bed and good company, safe from north winds seemed to Soapy the most desirable thing.

Just as the more fortunate New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach each winter, Soapy had made his arrangements for his annual journey to the Island. And now the time had come.

There were many institutions of charity in New York where he might receive lodging and food, but to Soapy’s proud spirit the gifts of charity were undesirable. You must pay in humiliation of spirit for everything received at the hands of mercy. So it was better to be a guest of the law.

Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire. He left his bench and went up Broadway. He stopped at the door of a glittering cafe. He was shaven and his coat was decent. If he could reach a table in the restaurant, the portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter’s mind. A roasted duck, with a bottle of wine, a cigar and a cup of coffee would be enough. Such a dinner would make him happy, for the journey to his winter refuge.

But as Soapy entered the restaurant door, the head waiter’s eye fell upon his shabby trousers and old shoes. Strong hands pushed him in silence and haste out into the street.

Some other way of entering the desirable refuge must be found.

At a corner of Sixth Avenue Soapy took a stone and sent it through the glass of a glittering shop window. People came running around the corner, a policeman at the head of them. Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of the policeman.

“Where is the man that has done that?” asked the policeman.

“Don’t you think that I have had something to do with it?” said Soapy, friendly.

The policeman paid no attention to Soapy. Men who break windows don’t remain to speak with policemen. They run away. He saw a man running and rushed after him, stick in hand. Soapy, disgusted, walked along, twice unsuccessful.

On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant for people with large appetites and modest purses. Soapy entered this place without difficulty. He sat at a table and ate beefsteak and pie. And then he told the waiter he had no money.

“Go and call a cop,” said Soapy. “And don’t keep a gentleman waiting.”

“No cop for you,” said the waiter. “Hey!”

Then Soapy found himself lying upon his left ear on the pavement. He arose with difficulty, and beat the dust from his clothes. Arrest seemed a rosy dream. The Island seemed far away.

After another unsuccessful attempt to be arrested for harassing a young woman, Soapy went further toward the district of theatres.

When he saw a policeman standing in front of a glittering theatre, he thought of “disorderly conduct”. On the sidewalk Soapy began to sing drunken songs at the top of his voice. He danced, cried, and otherwise disturbed the peace.

The policeman turned his back to Soapy, and said to a citizen, “It is one of the Yale boys celebrating their football victory. Noisy, but no harm.”

Sadly, Soapy stopped his useless singing and dancing. The Island seemed unattainable. He buttoned his thin coat against the north wind.

In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man who had set his silk umbrella by the door. Soapy entered the store, took the umbrella, and went out with it slowly. The man with the cigar followed hastily.

“My umbrella,” he said.

“Oh, is it?” said Soapy. “Well, why don’t you call a policeman? I took your umbrella! Why don’t you call a cop? There stands one on the corner.”

The umbrella owner slowed his steps. Soapy did likewise. The policeman looked at them curiously.

“Of course,” said the umbrella man, “well, you know how these mistakes occur…if it’s your umbrella I hope you’ll excuse me – I picked it up this morning in a restaurant – if it’s yours, I hope you’ll…”

“Of course it’s mine,” said Soapy.

The ex-umbrella man retreated. The policeman hurried to help a well-dressed woman across the street.

Soapy threw the umbrella angrily. He was angry with the men who wear helmets and carry clubs. They seemed to regard him as a king who could do no wrong.

At last Soapy stopped before an old church on a quiet corner. Through one window a soft light glowed, where, the organist played a Sunday anthem. For there came to Soapy’s ears sweet music that caught and held him at the iron fence.

The moon was shining; cars and pedestrians were few; birds twittered sleepily under the roof. And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends.

The influence of the music and the old church produced a sudden and wonderful change in Soapy’s soul. He thought of his degraded days, dead hopes and wrecked faculties.

And also in a moment a strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate. He would pull himself out of this pit; he would make a man of himself again. Those sweet notes had set up a revolution in him. Tomorrow he would be somebody in the world. He would…

Soapy felt a hand on his arm. He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.”

“Then come along,” said the policeman.

“Three months on the Island,” said the Judge the next morning.

1.Soapy regarded the Island as his winter ambition because _____.

A. he wanted to go on Mediterranean voyages and enjoy blue Southern skies

B. he wanted to spend the cold winter somewhere warm other than New York

C. he wanted to be put into prison to survive the coming winter

D. he wanted to buy a ticket to the Island to spend the cold winter

2.Which of the following is the reason for Soapy’s not turning to charity?

A. His pride gets in the way.

B. What the institutions of charity offer isn’t what Soapy needs.

C. He wants to be a citizen who obeys the law.

D. The institutions of charity are not located on the island.

3. How many times did Soapy try to accomplish his desire?

A. 4.                                       B. 5.                                       C. 6.                                       D. 7.

4. From the passage, we can see what the two restaurants have in common is that _____.

A. they are both fancy upper class restaurants

B. neither of them served Soapy

C. they both drove Soapy out of the restaurant after he finished his meal

D. neither of them called cops

5.Hearing the Sunday anthem at the church, Soapy _____.

A. was reminded of his good old days and wanted to play the anthem again

B. was reminded of his unaccomplished ambition and was determined to get to the Island

C. was reminded of his disgraceful past and determined to transform himself

D. was reminded of his rosy dream and wished to realize it

6.By ending the story this way, the author means to _____.

A. show that one always gets what he/she wants with enough efforts

B. make a contrast and criticize the sick society

C. surprise readers by proving justice was done after all

D. put a tragic end to Soapy’s life and show his sympathy for Soapy