"But you must have some idea."
"I'm not sure that I have."
"Don't you believe in God? I should have thought that you'd be the kind of cuss who would."
"I don't know that you can call it believing. It's more like—like having a kind of instinct—helped out by a little thinking."
"Have I got the instinct?"
"Can't you tell that yourself?"
"If I told you you'd howl."
"No, I shouldn't. Go to it."
Teddy laughed sheepishly, as if he had ventured to peer into secrets which were none of his business.
"I'll tell you the way God seems to me—it's all come to me while I've been in there." He nodded toward the cells. "I don't seem to get him as a great big man, the way the chaplain says he is. He's all right, the chaplain, only he don't seem to know anything about God. He can gas away to beat the band about law, and society, and the good of the community, and hell to pay when you don't respect them; but when it comes to God—it's nix."