“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 could get the ministers thoroughly interested in him, he would have a good opportunity for comparing rates.  The good men all wanted Joe, for he was a rising young man, and could, if the Spirit moved him, make handsome subscriptions to good purposes.  So, in their zeal, they soon regarded each other with jealous eyes, and reduced their respective creeds to gossamer thinness.  They agreed about grace being free, and Joe accepted that much promptly, as he did anything which could be had without price.  But Joe was a practical man, and though he found fault with none of the doctrines talked at him, he yet hesitated to attach himself to any particular congregation.  He finally ascertained that the Reverend Barzillai Driftwood’s church had no debt, and that its contributions to missions and other religious purposes were very small, so Joe allowed himself to be gathered into the fine assortment of crooked sticks which the Reverend Barzillai Driftwood was reserving unto the day of burning.