He paused for a moment only outside the portals to discard the furs he wore, then he pushed open the great unguarded gate and stepped inside.
It was a goodly heaven, vast and beautiful and shining in its new-made emptiness.
I. B. Devil did not pause for admiration, but went straightway to Gud's private office and kicked open the door. There was no one there. Beside the larger desk was a lesser one, and on this lay a powder puff and a small mirror. The Devil stepped to the file cabinet, flung it open; and with uncanny accuracy reached in, pulled out the carbon copy of the order for souls, and read:
"In accordance with your quotation, you may ship us at once three billion mortal souls."
"Poor old chap," mused the Devil, "I should never have trusted one."
Then he stepped outside and mounted to the throne of Gud. There he found a note pinned to the upholstery. It read: "We have gone to Hell."
The Devil went back to the portal of Gud's heaven and picked up the furs: "I guess," he said, "I had better take them down to her."
But Gud let her go to Hell alone, for in the course of their headlong flight, he heard the faint sound of far off barking. Wheeling in the ether Gud made straight for the campfire, where he had left Fidu watching the beans.
"Did the beans boil over?" asked Gud.