Another story from Dad: 'Jack and the Devil'
This is an old Halloween story my father told me long years gone. Be warned, I had to rework it a bit and it's a bit long. Hopefully it's not too long.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it:
Now this is a story I heard from my father one cool Halloween night, a long time ago. It started with, “where did jack-o-lanterns come from?” and ended -- well, you’ll see how it ends.
A long, long time ago (well maybe not all that long), in Dutch country there was a man named Jack. Most Dutchmen are known for being hard working, honest, and thrifty. Jack was proud to say he broke the mold by being none of those things. Hard work was a curse word to him, and he devoted his life to avoiding it by spending his days making sure no one stole his apple tree by sleeping against it; or his chair by napping in it; or his forge hammer and anvil by using it to do the little work he did to get the money he then spent at dice and the tavern.
He was married, too, and to the worst scold in the state, and had children by her. She was always demanding money from him, and when Jack didn’t fork it over, she took up the nearest piece of furniture she could find and bent it over his head. Then she rifled his wallet at her leisure. Jack was a great believer in the equality of the sexes, and so he repaid her with plenty of lumps too when he awoke. He smacked her. She smacked him. They both smacked the kids, all six of them, and the kids paid Jack back by stealing his apples and hiding his hammer and putting horseshoe nails on his chair. Donnervetter, such a family they were!
Well, one day as Jack was at the anvil, nursing the latest set of lumps the old woman gifted him and wishing his brats hadn’t taken every apple from the tree and hidden his hammer and stuck the horseshoe nails on his chair again -- he would have liked to go and buy a beer or seven and sit in that chair and eat some apples with his beer -- who should come down the road outside but an old, old man with a long, long beard all dressed in rags like a tramp.
“Guten tag, friend,” the old man said to Jack, “I’ve wandered far and far today. Might you have some food for a hungry man?”
Other times Jack would have sent the old fellow on his way with a laugh and a curse and a boot to the backside, but not today. What with his wife and children having dealt so harshly with him (not that he deserved better) Jack was feeling a real kinship with the old beggar. Few things dissolve pride quicker than real want, and so Jack said,
“I’ve got nothing, old timer, but this bit of bread. However, you can have it if you wish.”
The old tramp took the bread and ate it with real relish, and then when he was done he said, “Jack, how’s life been treating you?”
“As badly as ever,” Jack gloomed back at him. Not wondering at all how this old man should know his name, he said, “My wife beats me; my kids trick me; and my friends at the tavern turn their backs on me when I come to the table. Heilige Donnervetter (Holy Thunderstorm)! Should my life get any worse, I’ll either move to New Jersey or go to the suicide tree in Kreidersville and hang myself!”
“Now don’t speak like that, Jack. You never know what can happen.”
“I’d need magic wishes to get out of my troubles.”
“Okay, then, mein herr, I give you three wishes!”
Jack gave the old man a funny sidelong look. The old boy looked serious, and he added, “’Tis no lie. I, Jack, am Saint Michael. Sometimes I wander through the Dutch Country and see what there is to see. The people I met all told me you were the biggest bully, liar, and cheat in three states. So I came here to see for myself, and found a humble and generous man. Thus, for you I now grant three wishes. But make them now!”
“Well, then, in that case, your worship,” Jack said, “here are my three wishes.
“First of all, my kids keep hiding my forge hammer and sometimes make a racket with it on the anvil when I‘m a-trying to sleep. Since they like hammering so much, I wish that anyone who touches that hammer but me should have to beat out horseshoes on the anvil until I let them go!”
“All right,” the old man said, sounding wary. “Go on.”
“Second of all,” Jack said, warming to it now, “people keep snitching my apples. I wish that anyone but me who touches that tree should be unable to let go of it, and that they be stung by a nest of hornets until I let ‘em go.”
“And the third wish?” the old man said, his brow as black as a rain cloud before the thunder comes.
“Last of all,” Jack said, “kids keep sticking horseshoe nails in my chair. I wish that anyone who\touches that chair save only me should be held fast until I let them go!”
“Donnervetter!” The saint raised his staff, shook it and yelled, “I thought you weren’t the biggest liar and cheat in three states, and I was right! You’re even worse, and a fool to boot! Why didn’t you think to use even one of those wishes to make sure that you and your wife and your little children wouldn’t go hungry again?”
Jack gaped and said, “Ach, you’re right! I should have wished for dice that always roll seven and a big house and a beer stein that never emptied! Hey, how about you give me three more wishes so I can do all of that?”
“Here’s what I’ll give you, you reprobate!” And with those words the good saint whipped his staff up and broke it over Jack’s head, giving him a new lump to match the old ones. “And now I’m leaving, and may I never see you again. For if I do, I’ll put you in a place where you won’t freeze!” And with that he vanished.
And as Jack began to gather himself up from the floor, rubbing his aching head, who should come in but his wife and six kids!
“Look at you!” she yelled upon seeing him on the floor, giving him a kick for emphasis. “Drunk again! Why can’t you ever do some work around here?” Another kick. “It can’t be that hard to pick up a forge hammer!” Meanwhile the kids were scattering, half of them to the chair with a fine new collection of nails for Jack’s schwanz and the other half up into the apple tree.
Jack thought quickly, and said: “Let’s see you do it, darling wife!” And he pointed to the hammer. Well, she snatched it up and all but flew to the anvil, pounding away. Meanwhile the kids in the tree started to howl as the hornets found them, and they found themselves unable to escape or even swat the little monsters; their hands were stuck fast to the tree! And the kids in the chair were given a fine ringside seat to the whole show.
Jack strolled up to his wife, whistling, and snatched his money back from her. Then with a, “Well, I’m off! I expect I’ll be back in a day or so,” he left for the tavern.
Jack came back two days later like he promised. His wife was still at the anvil, with a mountain of horseshoes around her; and half the kids were still in the tree and swollen with stings; and the other half were in the chair, with the nails sticking in their backsides. And all of them began to beg Jack in the humblest tones that if he would please, please let them go, they’d never say as much as a cross word to him ever again.
“Well, since you seem to have learned your lessons!” Jack said, and his wife dropped the forge hammer, and his kids came down from the tree and out of the chair, all rubbing their hurts.
It didn’t take Jack long to start inviting people to his house to see his magical hammer and chair and tree. Invitations were free. Leaving, however, cost all the money you had. Jack also made them swear not to say what had happened “Or else!” And as they thought that Jack could do more than bake bread (I.e., perform witchcraft) they went along.
Soon Jack was the richest man in the county. He build a big fancy house right by his old blacksmith’s shop. He diced and drank and hobnobbed with people who once wouldn’t have spit on his shadow.
But Jack still wasn’t very happy. People thought he was on familiar terms with Old Nick, and many of them avoided him fearfully. “Well,” Jack told himself, “if I have the reputation, I may as well earn it.” So he went off to a abandoned churchyard, set his hand atop his head, and said, “Old Nick, mein herr, if you give me wealth I promise you everything you find under this hand of mine.”
“Speak no further, Jack, my very good fellow!” And with those words a tall man stepped out from behind a tombstone. He was dressed to the nines in the fanciest zoot suit you ever saw, with a skimmer of a hat and a pocket watch and chain that shimmered like the gold they were. His eyes glowed like red coals and he extended a hand with claws in place of nails. “You asked for me, and here I am.”
“Greetings, your honor,” Jack said, taking that hand fearlessly. “How is everything down below?”
“Ohhhh, nicht schlecht,” the Devil said. “Not bad. What with Prohibition, I have lots of dead gangsters to keep me busy -- they still fuss and fight, even down there -- and of course there’s always the politicians in Harrisburg. Not too many Dutchmen, though, which is why I’ll be glad to be taking you now.” And with that he seized Jack’s coat with his claws.
“Hold on! Hold on!” Jack yelled, slapping Old Nick’s hands away. His coat smoked where those claws had held, but Jack ignored that to yell, “I’ve read all the stories! You have to buy my soul and give me gold for seven years, and then you get me!”
The Devil just rolled his red-coal eyes. “Buy your soul, Jack? You’ve fairly thrown it into my hands with your gambling and cheating and drinking! I’m a businessman, and I don’t buy what I already own. Now come on and stop fussing!” He opened his pocket watch and looked at it. “I’ve a meeting with the Senator in half an hour, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Wellll…” Jack said, thinking quickly, “Can I please go and see my old blacksmith shop one last time, before I go? I doubt you’ll be needing many horseshoes made down below, your honor, and I’d like one last look before leaving.”
“Full well,” the Devil said, “but let’s hurry.” So Jack and the Devil went to the shop and Jack hefted his hammer.
“Fare well, old friend! You were a good solid weight, though one thing I can look forward to is never having to heft something like you again! Devils being what they are.” And he gave Old Nick a pitying sidelong look.
“What is that supposed to mean?” The Devil said in a snappish tone. “Are you implying that I can’t lift that hammer?”
“Of course not, your honor,” Jack said. “It’s just that, well, a fellow who dresses so fancy probably doesn’t know much about smithing and wouldn’t have any wind for it.”
“Not know about blacksmithing!” The Devil roared. “Who do you think taught Cain how to hammer the first sword? Stand aside, Jack! Before we go I’ll hammer the finest horseshoes you ever saw!” And with that Old Nick snatched up the hammer and laid to with a passion. In a moment he’d knocked out the four finest horseshoes you ever did see. And then four more, and a dozen, and: “Jack! (Bang!) Help! (Clang!) I can’t (Bang!) drop this (Clang!) hammer! (Bang!)”
“I see that you can’t,” Jack said. “I think maybe you need some more practice, though; these shoes could be better. I’ll give you a month or three here, and then see how everything is going.” And with that Jack strolled out the door and headed for the tavern. When he came back home, he went to bed and told his wife not to mind the noises coming from the smithy, as they’d be going on for a few weeks.
And a month or three later Jack came back to the smithy. Old Scratch was still there, pounding away, but he didn’t look quite so fine now as he did earlier.
“Well, Nick,” Jack said, leaning against the wall and chewing on a wisp of straw, “how’s life as a smith?”
“Oh you cursed wretch!” the Devil panted. “I’ve been swinging this hammer for three months! Your wife was selling tickets for people to come and laugh, and your kids all stuck needles in my schwanz!”
“That sounds like them, all right,” Jack said, nodding sagely. “Will you give me gold and seven years of freedom if I let you go?”
“I’ll give you the hottest fire in Hell to stoke and nothing else!” Old Nick gave Jack a horrible look, or as horrible a look as he could manage while still swinging that forge hammer.
“Well, then if that’s how you’ll be!” Jack said, “I’ll be going, then. I hear that evangelist Billy Sunday will be preaching in Allentown, and I bet he’d like to have a look at you!”
“No! No! NO!” Old Nick yelled. “Anything but that! Donnervetter, let me go! I swear I’ll give you your gold, and seven years of freedom from me besides!”
“The gold first,” Jack said. “I don’t buy what I can’t see!” The Devil rolled his eyes and gnashed his fangs and wept burning tears, but finally he lashed his forked tail and POOF! A whole chest filled with gold and jewels appeared before Jack. Jack then told his hammer to “Let go!” and the Devil staggered back, his empty arms still pumping for several moments.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in seven years then,” Jack said as the Devil stumbled from his shop.
“Oh, you will You will! Cursed Dutchman!” And with that Old Nick disappeared in a flash of fire and brimstone.
The next four years were good for Jack. He built an ever bigger house, threw parties that brought all in the big men in the state, and turned the old place into a casino. He brought in wild women to run around with. He was driven around town in a fancy limo, lit cigars with hundred dollar bills, and played the ponies. He did graciously allow his wife and kids to live in the old smithy, and didn’t even charge them rent. “A fellow has to do right by his family, after all,” he explained to his new friends, and they all told him what a grand-hearted fellow he was.
But money has its limits, and Jack’s eventually ran out between bets and bribes and wild parties after four years. And when that happened, all his new friends suddenly forgot who he was. His big new house went to the state for back taxes, and he moved back into the old smithy where his wife was waiting for him with the strap. Jack was as badly off as he’d ever been, and soon reduced to the local tavern again, where he got drinks only because of his occasional stories about what Senator so-and-so or whoever the Industrialist was like in their cups. Jack cursed the cruel and unkind fates that had reduced him to poverty. Such a good fellow like him!
And then seven years were gone by, and Jack was looking at his apple tree which was filled with ripe, juicy apples when with a puff of sulfur, Old Nick appeared again. This time he wore a gangster’s pinstripe suit and vest and was puffing on a big cigar.
“Evening, Nick,” Jack said.
“Evening yourself, Jack,” the Devil said with a grin. “You doubtless know why I’m here. So let’s be going. And no goodbyes to any forge hammers this time!”
I had to break it up, but the next entry will contain the last half of the story.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it:
Now this is a story I heard from my father one cool Halloween night, a long time ago. It started with, “where did jack-o-lanterns come from?” and ended -- well, you’ll see how it ends.
A long, long time ago (well maybe not all that long), in Dutch country there was a man named Jack. Most Dutchmen are known for being hard working, honest, and thrifty. Jack was proud to say he broke the mold by being none of those things. Hard work was a curse word to him, and he devoted his life to avoiding it by spending his days making sure no one stole his apple tree by sleeping against it; or his chair by napping in it; or his forge hammer and anvil by using it to do the little work he did to get the money he then spent at dice and the tavern.
He was married, too, and to the worst scold in the state, and had children by her. She was always demanding money from him, and when Jack didn’t fork it over, she took up the nearest piece of furniture she could find and bent it over his head. Then she rifled his wallet at her leisure. Jack was a great believer in the equality of the sexes, and so he repaid her with plenty of lumps too when he awoke. He smacked her. She smacked him. They both smacked the kids, all six of them, and the kids paid Jack back by stealing his apples and hiding his hammer and putting horseshoe nails on his chair. Donnervetter, such a family they were!
Well, one day as Jack was at the anvil, nursing the latest set of lumps the old woman gifted him and wishing his brats hadn’t taken every apple from the tree and hidden his hammer and stuck the horseshoe nails on his chair again -- he would have liked to go and buy a beer or seven and sit in that chair and eat some apples with his beer -- who should come down the road outside but an old, old man with a long, long beard all dressed in rags like a tramp.
“Guten tag, friend,” the old man said to Jack, “I’ve wandered far and far today. Might you have some food for a hungry man?”
Other times Jack would have sent the old fellow on his way with a laugh and a curse and a boot to the backside, but not today. What with his wife and children having dealt so harshly with him (not that he deserved better) Jack was feeling a real kinship with the old beggar. Few things dissolve pride quicker than real want, and so Jack said,
“I’ve got nothing, old timer, but this bit of bread. However, you can have it if you wish.”
The old tramp took the bread and ate it with real relish, and then when he was done he said, “Jack, how’s life been treating you?”
“As badly as ever,” Jack gloomed back at him. Not wondering at all how this old man should know his name, he said, “My wife beats me; my kids trick me; and my friends at the tavern turn their backs on me when I come to the table. Heilige Donnervetter (Holy Thunderstorm)! Should my life get any worse, I’ll either move to New Jersey or go to the suicide tree in Kreidersville and hang myself!”
“Now don’t speak like that, Jack. You never know what can happen.”
“I’d need magic wishes to get out of my troubles.”
“Okay, then, mein herr, I give you three wishes!”
Jack gave the old man a funny sidelong look. The old boy looked serious, and he added, “’Tis no lie. I, Jack, am Saint Michael. Sometimes I wander through the Dutch Country and see what there is to see. The people I met all told me you were the biggest bully, liar, and cheat in three states. So I came here to see for myself, and found a humble and generous man. Thus, for you I now grant three wishes. But make them now!”
“Well, then, in that case, your worship,” Jack said, “here are my three wishes.
“First of all, my kids keep hiding my forge hammer and sometimes make a racket with it on the anvil when I‘m a-trying to sleep. Since they like hammering so much, I wish that anyone who touches that hammer but me should have to beat out horseshoes on the anvil until I let them go!”
“All right,” the old man said, sounding wary. “Go on.”
“Second of all,” Jack said, warming to it now, “people keep snitching my apples. I wish that anyone but me who touches that tree should be unable to let go of it, and that they be stung by a nest of hornets until I let ‘em go.”
“And the third wish?” the old man said, his brow as black as a rain cloud before the thunder comes.
“Last of all,” Jack said, “kids keep sticking horseshoe nails in my chair. I wish that anyone who\touches that chair save only me should be held fast until I let them go!”
“Donnervetter!” The saint raised his staff, shook it and yelled, “I thought you weren’t the biggest liar and cheat in three states, and I was right! You’re even worse, and a fool to boot! Why didn’t you think to use even one of those wishes to make sure that you and your wife and your little children wouldn’t go hungry again?”
Jack gaped and said, “Ach, you’re right! I should have wished for dice that always roll seven and a big house and a beer stein that never emptied! Hey, how about you give me three more wishes so I can do all of that?”
“Here’s what I’ll give you, you reprobate!” And with those words the good saint whipped his staff up and broke it over Jack’s head, giving him a new lump to match the old ones. “And now I’m leaving, and may I never see you again. For if I do, I’ll put you in a place where you won’t freeze!” And with that he vanished.
And as Jack began to gather himself up from the floor, rubbing his aching head, who should come in but his wife and six kids!
“Look at you!” she yelled upon seeing him on the floor, giving him a kick for emphasis. “Drunk again! Why can’t you ever do some work around here?” Another kick. “It can’t be that hard to pick up a forge hammer!” Meanwhile the kids were scattering, half of them to the chair with a fine new collection of nails for Jack’s schwanz and the other half up into the apple tree.
Jack thought quickly, and said: “Let’s see you do it, darling wife!” And he pointed to the hammer. Well, she snatched it up and all but flew to the anvil, pounding away. Meanwhile the kids in the tree started to howl as the hornets found them, and they found themselves unable to escape or even swat the little monsters; their hands were stuck fast to the tree! And the kids in the chair were given a fine ringside seat to the whole show.
Jack strolled up to his wife, whistling, and snatched his money back from her. Then with a, “Well, I’m off! I expect I’ll be back in a day or so,” he left for the tavern.
Jack came back two days later like he promised. His wife was still at the anvil, with a mountain of horseshoes around her; and half the kids were still in the tree and swollen with stings; and the other half were in the chair, with the nails sticking in their backsides. And all of them began to beg Jack in the humblest tones that if he would please, please let them go, they’d never say as much as a cross word to him ever again.
“Well, since you seem to have learned your lessons!” Jack said, and his wife dropped the forge hammer, and his kids came down from the tree and out of the chair, all rubbing their hurts.
It didn’t take Jack long to start inviting people to his house to see his magical hammer and chair and tree. Invitations were free. Leaving, however, cost all the money you had. Jack also made them swear not to say what had happened “Or else!” And as they thought that Jack could do more than bake bread (I.e., perform witchcraft) they went along.
Soon Jack was the richest man in the county. He build a big fancy house right by his old blacksmith’s shop. He diced and drank and hobnobbed with people who once wouldn’t have spit on his shadow.
But Jack still wasn’t very happy. People thought he was on familiar terms with Old Nick, and many of them avoided him fearfully. “Well,” Jack told himself, “if I have the reputation, I may as well earn it.” So he went off to a abandoned churchyard, set his hand atop his head, and said, “Old Nick, mein herr, if you give me wealth I promise you everything you find under this hand of mine.”
“Speak no further, Jack, my very good fellow!” And with those words a tall man stepped out from behind a tombstone. He was dressed to the nines in the fanciest zoot suit you ever saw, with a skimmer of a hat and a pocket watch and chain that shimmered like the gold they were. His eyes glowed like red coals and he extended a hand with claws in place of nails. “You asked for me, and here I am.”
“Greetings, your honor,” Jack said, taking that hand fearlessly. “How is everything down below?”
“Ohhhh, nicht schlecht,” the Devil said. “Not bad. What with Prohibition, I have lots of dead gangsters to keep me busy -- they still fuss and fight, even down there -- and of course there’s always the politicians in Harrisburg. Not too many Dutchmen, though, which is why I’ll be glad to be taking you now.” And with that he seized Jack’s coat with his claws.
“Hold on! Hold on!” Jack yelled, slapping Old Nick’s hands away. His coat smoked where those claws had held, but Jack ignored that to yell, “I’ve read all the stories! You have to buy my soul and give me gold for seven years, and then you get me!”
The Devil just rolled his red-coal eyes. “Buy your soul, Jack? You’ve fairly thrown it into my hands with your gambling and cheating and drinking! I’m a businessman, and I don’t buy what I already own. Now come on and stop fussing!” He opened his pocket watch and looked at it. “I’ve a meeting with the Senator in half an hour, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Wellll…” Jack said, thinking quickly, “Can I please go and see my old blacksmith shop one last time, before I go? I doubt you’ll be needing many horseshoes made down below, your honor, and I’d like one last look before leaving.”
“Full well,” the Devil said, “but let’s hurry.” So Jack and the Devil went to the shop and Jack hefted his hammer.
“Fare well, old friend! You were a good solid weight, though one thing I can look forward to is never having to heft something like you again! Devils being what they are.” And he gave Old Nick a pitying sidelong look.
“What is that supposed to mean?” The Devil said in a snappish tone. “Are you implying that I can’t lift that hammer?”
“Of course not, your honor,” Jack said. “It’s just that, well, a fellow who dresses so fancy probably doesn’t know much about smithing and wouldn’t have any wind for it.”
“Not know about blacksmithing!” The Devil roared. “Who do you think taught Cain how to hammer the first sword? Stand aside, Jack! Before we go I’ll hammer the finest horseshoes you ever saw!” And with that Old Nick snatched up the hammer and laid to with a passion. In a moment he’d knocked out the four finest horseshoes you ever did see. And then four more, and a dozen, and: “Jack! (Bang!) Help! (Clang!) I can’t (Bang!) drop this (Clang!) hammer! (Bang!)”
“I see that you can’t,” Jack said. “I think maybe you need some more practice, though; these shoes could be better. I’ll give you a month or three here, and then see how everything is going.” And with that Jack strolled out the door and headed for the tavern. When he came back home, he went to bed and told his wife not to mind the noises coming from the smithy, as they’d be going on for a few weeks.
And a month or three later Jack came back to the smithy. Old Scratch was still there, pounding away, but he didn’t look quite so fine now as he did earlier.
“Well, Nick,” Jack said, leaning against the wall and chewing on a wisp of straw, “how’s life as a smith?”
“Oh you cursed wretch!” the Devil panted. “I’ve been swinging this hammer for three months! Your wife was selling tickets for people to come and laugh, and your kids all stuck needles in my schwanz!”
“That sounds like them, all right,” Jack said, nodding sagely. “Will you give me gold and seven years of freedom if I let you go?”
“I’ll give you the hottest fire in Hell to stoke and nothing else!” Old Nick gave Jack a horrible look, or as horrible a look as he could manage while still swinging that forge hammer.
“Well, then if that’s how you’ll be!” Jack said, “I’ll be going, then. I hear that evangelist Billy Sunday will be preaching in Allentown, and I bet he’d like to have a look at you!”
“No! No! NO!” Old Nick yelled. “Anything but that! Donnervetter, let me go! I swear I’ll give you your gold, and seven years of freedom from me besides!”
“The gold first,” Jack said. “I don’t buy what I can’t see!” The Devil rolled his eyes and gnashed his fangs and wept burning tears, but finally he lashed his forked tail and POOF! A whole chest filled with gold and jewels appeared before Jack. Jack then told his hammer to “Let go!” and the Devil staggered back, his empty arms still pumping for several moments.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in seven years then,” Jack said as the Devil stumbled from his shop.
“Oh, you will You will! Cursed Dutchman!” And with that Old Nick disappeared in a flash of fire and brimstone.
The next four years were good for Jack. He built an ever bigger house, threw parties that brought all in the big men in the state, and turned the old place into a casino. He brought in wild women to run around with. He was driven around town in a fancy limo, lit cigars with hundred dollar bills, and played the ponies. He did graciously allow his wife and kids to live in the old smithy, and didn’t even charge them rent. “A fellow has to do right by his family, after all,” he explained to his new friends, and they all told him what a grand-hearted fellow he was.
But money has its limits, and Jack’s eventually ran out between bets and bribes and wild parties after four years. And when that happened, all his new friends suddenly forgot who he was. His big new house went to the state for back taxes, and he moved back into the old smithy where his wife was waiting for him with the strap. Jack was as badly off as he’d ever been, and soon reduced to the local tavern again, where he got drinks only because of his occasional stories about what Senator so-and-so or whoever the Industrialist was like in their cups. Jack cursed the cruel and unkind fates that had reduced him to poverty. Such a good fellow like him!
And then seven years were gone by, and Jack was looking at his apple tree which was filled with ripe, juicy apples when with a puff of sulfur, Old Nick appeared again. This time he wore a gangster’s pinstripe suit and vest and was puffing on a big cigar.
“Evening, Nick,” Jack said.
“Evening yourself, Jack,” the Devil said with a grin. “You doubtless know why I’m here. So let’s be going. And no goodbyes to any forge hammers this time!”
I had to break it up, but the next entry will contain the last half of the story.