Every morning for 50 years Roland M. Smythe entered his musty office at No. 2 Broadway, hung his umbrella on the hatrack, opened the hatbox on his big roller desk and placed his hat therein, brim up. It served as a basket for important papers.
Every evening before Mr. Smythe went home to Brooklyn he baited delicately with his broad fingers a tiny mousetrap, left it on his desk to surprise one of the myriad night inhabitants of the Produce Exchange Building. Such minor prey interested Mr. Smythe not unnaturally, because his business was...
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