My Uncle Tom sold his soul to the Devil at the crossroads ten miles east of town for the world’s best piece of chewing gum and to be the best banjo player this town had ever seen.  His original bargain was the love of Miss Marble and to be the best guitar player on the face of the earth, but the devil had promised those to Howard Gulligan a few days earlier, so old Tom had to settle for the second best of each.  The problem with his banjo skills was that this town had never seen a banjo player before, so we never knew how good he really was.  As for the chewing gum, my Uncle never took a bite.  He said he wanted to be able to get a refund if he ever felt so inclined and that he was never gonna have a chance without that gum being in perfect condition.  My mother called him a fool, pointing out how even the local store had a thirty-day return policy so the Devil was sure to have one too.  Nevertheless, thirty years after he made his deal they found my Uncle dead at the very same crossroad, his stick of chewing gum missing from his pocket.  Maybe the Devil’s always willing to give a refund; maybe the Devil’s just cheap.

That was about ten years ago.  These days you can do business at the end of the main street in town.  One day God starts visiting less and less; the next, the Devil’s got a cart that’s open for all your soul-selling needs every Sunday.

Now, my mother warned me never to give my soul to the Devil even if it was for the prettiest girl in town.  'Course she wasn’t aware that my father had done that exact thing, and it’s hard to follow the advice of someone whose mind had been messed by the Devil.  So when I first set my eyes upon Jane-Louis’s chocolate brown ones I knew I had some dealing to do.

The next day I went and paid the Devil a visit.  He took a long drag of his cigarette as I approached.  I watched the smoke as poured out his nose in a silver stream that reached up to the brim of his hat.  “Morning good soul,” was his greeting.

I then proceeded to go into detail about how I was wishing to acquire the affection of Miss Jane Louis.  To say he was a tricky fellow was an understatement, and he insisted that one soul was far to little of a price for such a pretty little head.  After much debate we settled on this: I would go around with my own cart buying souls for the Devil, and after fifty of ‘em Jane Louis would be mine.

Buying souls for the Devil is a tricky business.  A lot of wheeling and dealing was done on both sides of a deal but after three years I had gathered me fifty souls.  Returning home and to the end of the main street I spotted the Devil’s carriage waiting along with Jane Louis.  As I climbed down with the souls in my arms she bounded over and took them from me.  “You did a mighty fine job,” she said counting them up, “You’re one of the best buyers I’ve ever had.”  She took a quick look at my face.  “What didn’t Henry ever tell you he was my assistant?  Oh my, never figured him to be a crafty one but in this business…” She finished counting and finally turned those drop-dead gorgeous eyes back toward my face, “You ever been told you look like your Uncle?”

Dealing souls is a funny sort of business.