“Come on! We’ll float together,” she retorted. “Do you raise that, or call?”
Laughing, he returned: “I’ll pass the buck to Saint Peter,” whereupon she intimated that Saint Peter was not immediately available.
“Who hold the keys?”
“You hold your own—not transferable.”
“You are mostly pure idealist,” was another comment, a little later, replying to something he said about his own attitude toward life, “and got lost for a while in the dark.” He began to say that he should hardly have called himself an idealist, but already she was answering. “A true idealist is not a man who limits life to ideas, but a man who puts his ideals into life.”
One otherwise serious statement, concerning the influence of “hard-headed, intelligent men who are not afraid to testify to their faith” in these revelations, was given a humorous touch by the signature, “Missionary Mary.”
“Do you want me to go forth and testify, also?” I asked.
“No, you do it, and that involves too much,” she replied. “Let your converts testify. You go on playing hermit.”
“Have you seen William James?” he asked.