own credit; while the sign over the store-door read "Tackey &
Gatter." Then the Squire wanted Joe's soul, too, and so earnest was he
that Joe soon found it necessary to remonstrate with his partner.

"'Twont do, Squire," said he; "religion's all very well in its place,
but when a man loses the sale of a dozen eggs, profit seven cents,
because his partner is talking religion with him so hard that a customer
gets tired of waiting and goes somewhere else, then religion's out of
place."

"The human soul's of more cons'kence than many eggs, Joseph," argued
the Squire.

"That's just it," replied Joe; "money don't hit the value of the soul
any way, and there's no use trying to mix 'em. And while we're talking,
don't you think we might be mixing some of the settlings of the molasses
barrel with the brown sugar?--'twill make it weigh better."

The Squire sighed, but he could not help admitting that Joe was as good
a partner as a man could want.

In one of Joe's leisure moments it struck him that if he were to die,
nobody would lose a cent by the operation. The idea was too
exasperating, and soon the local agents of noted insurance companies
ceased to enjoy that tranquility which is characteristic of business men
in the country. Within a fortnight two of the agents were arraigned
before their respective churches for profane brawling, while Joe had
squeezed certain agents into dividing commissions to the lowest unit of
divisibility, and had several policies in the safe at the store.

The Squire, his partner, was agent for the Pantagonian Mutual, and
endured his full share of the general agony Joe had caused. But when he
had handed Joe a policy and receipt, and taken the money, and counted it
twice, and seen to it carefully that all the bills were good, the good
Squire took his revenge.

"Joseph," said he, "you ain't through with insurance yet--you need to
insure your soul against risk in the next world, and there's only one
Agent that does it."

The junior partner stretched himself on the counter and groaned. He knew
the Squire was right--he had heard that same story from every minister
he had ever heard. Joe was so agitated that he charged at twelve and a
half cents some calico he had sold at fifteen.

Only one Agent! But the shrewd Joseph rejoiced to think that those who
represented the Great Agent differed greatly in the conditions of the
insurance, and that some made more favorable terms than others, and that
if he