“Mebbe the puzzles is all right,” Mary considered. “But God don't look like that yellow little Greaser. THAT I won't fall for. God don't look like anybody. Don't you remember on the wall at the Salvation Army it says 'God is a spirit'?”
“That's another one of his puzzles, I guess, because nobody knows what a spirit looks like.”
“That's right, too.” Mary shuddered with reminiscent fear. “Whenever I try to think of God as a spirit, I can see Hen Miller all wrapped up in a sheet an' runnin' us girls. We didn't know, an' it scared the life out of us. Little Maggie Murphy fainted dead away, and Beatrice Peralta fell an' scratched her face horrible. When I think of a spirit all I can see is a white sheet runnin' in the dark. Just the same, God don't look like a Mexican, an' he don't wear his hair parted.”
A strain of music from the dancing pavilion brought both girls scrambling to their feet.
“We can get a couple of dances in before we eat,” Mary proposed. “An' then it'll be afternoon an' all the fellows 'll be here. Most of them are pinchers—that's why they don't come early, so as to get out of taking the girls to dinner. But Bert's free with his money, an' so is Billy. If we can beat the other girls to it, they'll take us to the restaurant. Come on, hurry, Saxon.”
There were few couples on the floor when they arrived at the pavilion, and the two girls essayed the first waltz together.
“There's Bert now,” Saxon whispered, as they came around the second time.
“Don't take any notice of them,” Mary whispered back. “We'll just keep on goin'. They needn't think we're chasin' after them.”
But Saxon noted the heightened color in the other's cheek, and felt her quicker breathing.
“Did you see that other one?” Mary asked, as she backed Saxon in a long slide across the far end of the pavilion. “That was Billy Roberts. Bert said he'd come. He'll take you to dinner, and Bert'll take me. It's goin' to be a swell day, you'll see. My! I only wish the music'll hold out till we can get back to the other end.”