"Charleton," he said slowly, "doesn't the thought of lying in a forgotten grave give you dumb horrors?"
"Sometimes," replied Charleton laconically, as he beat his cold hands together. "But only sometimes."
Douglas strained forward in the intensity of his interest.
Douglas' father straightened his broad shoulders. "If I let myself think about it, I have to go out and get drunk," he muttered.
"You don't conject right about them things," cried Johnny. "You got to listen to things."
No one heeded the sad-faced little man. Peter stooped for another frozen clod. "I'd give my right hand for my mother's faith in a living God," he said.
"But if there isn't any God, what is there?" cried Douglas, with passionate protest in his voice.
"Don't you try to discuss matters you ain't old enough to understand, son," ordered John Spencer.
"Unbelief is the price we pay for scientific progress," said Charleton.
"Me, I'm willing to pay."
"I'm not," growled Peter, "but I don't see any way round it. Come on,
Johnny, do your share."