“Who pe you,” he asked, “und what der teuffel you pe do dare?”

To this piece of impudence, cruelty, and affectation, I could reply only by ejaculating the monosyllable “Help!”

“Elp!” echoed the ruffian, “not I. Dare iz te pottle—­elp yourself, und pe tam’d!”

With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwaesser, which, dropping precisely upon the crown of my head, caused me to imagine that my brains were entirely knocked out.  Impressed with this idea I was about to relinquish my hold and give up the ghost with a good grace, when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, who bade me hold on.

“’Old on!” he said:  “don’t pe in te ’urry—­don’t.  Will you pe take de odder pottle, or ’ave you pe got zober yet, and come to your zenzes?”

I made haste, hereupon, to nod my head twice—­once in the negative, meaning thereby that I would prefer not taking the other bottle at present; and once in the affirmative, intending thus to imply that I was sober and had positively come to my senses.  By these means I somewhat softened the Angel.

“Und you pelief, ten,” he inquired, “at te last?  You pelief, ten, in te possibility of te odd?”

I again nodded my head in assent.

“Und you ave pelief in me, te Angel of te Odd?”

I nodded again.

“Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool?”

I nodded once more.

“Put your right hand into your left preeches pocket, ten, in token ov your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd.”

This thing, for very obvious reasons, I found it quite impossible to do.  In the first place, my left arm had been broken in my fall from the ladder, and therefore, had I let go my hold with the right hand I must have let go altogether.  In the second place, I could have no breeches until I came across the crow.  I was therefore obliged, much to my regret, to shake my head in the negative, intending thus to give the Angel to understand that I found it inconvenient, just at that moment, to comply with his very reasonable demand!  No sooner, however, had I ceased shaking my head than—­

“Go to der teuffel, ten!” roared the Angel of the Odd.

In pronouncing these words he drew a sharp knife across the guide-rope by which I was suspended, and as we then happened to be precisely over my own house (which, during my peregrinations, had been handsomely rebuilt), it so occurred that I tumbled headlong down the ample chimney and alit upon the dining-room hearth.

Upon coming to my senses (for the fall had very thoroughly stunned me) I found it about four o’clock in the morning.  I lay outstretched where I had fallen from the balloon.  My head groveled in the ashes of an extinguished fire, while my feet reposed upon the wreck of a small table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a miscellaneous dessert, intermingled with a newspaper, some broken glasses and shattered bottles, and an empty jug of the Schiedam Kirschenwaesser.  Thus revenged himself the Angel of the Odd.