Henry and George were spending a friendly evening together, talking pleasantly over their wine glasses--about a very unpleasant subject!

The two men sat across from each other in soft leather chairs. Flames from the fireplace before them licked upward and shadows danced on walls and ceiling. The corners were in complete darkness.

"I say, George, this wine is exceedingly good," one of the men poured rich red liquid from a large decanter into his goblet.

"Yes, Henry, it's quite good. Much better than brandy," answered George, swallowing hard and rolling his head.

"Yes, yes," said Henry, sighing deeply, his lips and chin stained from the beverage. "Yes. Yes. Nothing like good wine. Nothing like it."

"As I was saying," smiled George.

"Oh yes," Henry nodded, setting his goblet on the table and leaning forward in his seat. "Do continue with your story. You were telling me about how you met the Devil last week, and had an interesting chat with him." He winked mischievously.

George shook his head vigorously. "And I most certainly did. Yes. Met the Devil and had an enjoyable chat. He's a splendid chap, you know. Not at all like those pictures you see of him. No horns or red monkey outfit. He dresses most conservatively; wears a black suit. And he has nice gray hair." George patted his head. "Nice gray hair."

Henry poured himself another cup of wine and sipped it slowly. "But what did you talk about? I mean you have nothing in common at all."

"Oh no?" George shrugged. "But we do. We have much in common. I admire the Devil and told him so. And he said that he would be glad to have me come and work for him."

"Work for him?"

"Yes. He wants me to go with him to his headquarters."

"But his headquarters are in ... a ... well you know."

"I know, but I still want to go. He said he would make me a demon or a ghoul or something."

"Horrid, don't you think?"

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