Mr. Compton stood still, facing Bobby.
“You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“That’s certain.”
“Couldn’t God, if He wanted, annihilate you just where you are?”
“Let’s suppose He could.”
“Then there wouldn’t be any John Compton.”
“I see.”
“But if God could annihilate you, couldn’t He leave here where you stand a form and appearance that would look just exactly like you?”
“That would be a dummy.”
“Now, you hold on, uncle! Couldn’t God put inside that form and appearance of yours a spirit—an angel maybe—so that your form and appearance, under the power of that angel, would talk and act exactly like you?”