forth intent on his personal enjoyment. Determining to sink his
professional character, he mingled with the current of human life,
and enjoyed, with that immense capacity for excitement peculiar to his
nature, the whirl, bustle, and feverishness of the people, as a purely
aesthetic gratification unalloyed by the cares of business. What he did
that evening does not belong to our story. We return to the broker, whom
we left on the roof.

When he made sure that the Devil had retired, he carefully drew from
his pocket-book a slip of paper and affixed it on the hook. The line
had scarcely reached the current before he felt a bite. The hook was
swallowed. To bring up his victim rapidly, disengage him from the hook,
and reset his line, was the work of a moment. Another bite and the same
result. Another, and another. In a very few minutes the roof was covered
with his panting spoil. The broker could himself distinguish that
many of them were personal friends; nay, some of them were familiar
frequenters of the building on which they were now miserably stranded.
That the broker felt a certain satisfaction in being instrumental in
thus misleading his fellow-brokers no one acquainted with human nature
will for a moment doubt. But a stronger pull on his line caused him
to put forth all his strength and skill. The magic pole bent like a
coach-whip. The broker held firm, assisted by the battlements of the
church. Again and again it was almost wrested from his hand, and again
and again he slowly reeled in a portion of the tightening line. At last,
with one mighty effort, he lifted to the level of the roof a struggling
object. A howl like Pandemonium rang through the air as the broker
successfully landed at his feet--the Devil himself!

The two glared fiercely at each other. The broker, perhaps mindful
of his former treatment, evinced no haste to remove the hook from his