Mr. Sheets

The Devil stood before the gate Of Heaven. He had a single mate: Behind him, in his shadow, slunk Clay Sheets in a perspiring funk. "Saint Peter, see this season ticket," Said Satan; "pray undo the wicket." The sleepy Saint threw slight regard Upon the proffered bit of card, Signed by some clerical dead-beats: "Admit the bearer and Clay Sheets." Peter expanded all his eyes: "'Clay Sheets?'--well, I'll be damned!" he cries. "Our couches are of golden cloud; Nothing of earth is here allowed. I'll let you in," he added, shedding On Nick a smile--"but not your bedding."