"Thought you told me yesterday you didn't take any interest in the weather. Oh dear, no! never noticed it at all."
"I don't care a bit whether the old sun shines or not; can't think what people mean, to go bleating about the bad weather as they do. As if it mattered?"
"And yet it's 'Hurrah!' and three steps at a time for a sunshiny morning."
"Only said that for an excuse—not to tell you the real name of my patron saint."
"But do. Tell me what's your pet superstition, and I'll tell you mine."
"Honest Injun?"
"Yes."
"Well, my pet superstition—only it's not a superstition—is, that I was born lucky."
"Oh! what's the sign?"
"Sign? Nothing outward and visible, just an inward and spiritual grace. You needn't jeer; it's quite true. I'm sure I'm lucky. Now I've told you my great article of faith, what's yours?"