"I don't mind. Come to think of it, everything about the grays is queer. Well, I've never seen this man, but do you know what I think? That he lives off there in the mountains by himself because he's a sort of religious fanatic."
"Religion? Crazy, maybe."
"Maybe."
"What's his religion?"
"I don't know," said the girl coldly. "After you jerk lightning for a while, you aren't interested much in religion."
He nodded, not quite sure of her position, but now her face darkened and she went on, gathering interest in the subject.
"Oh, I've heard 'em rave about the God that made the earth and the stars and all that stuff; the mountains, too. I've heard 'em die asking for mercy and praising God. That's the way Dad went. It was drink that got him. But I'm for facts only. Far as I can see, when people come up against a thing they can't understand they just close their eyes and say, God! And when they're due to die, sometimes they're afraid and they say, God—because they think they're going out like a snuffed lantern and never will be lighted again."
The gambler sat with his chin buried in his palm, and from beneath a heavy frown he studied the girl.
"I don't hold malice more than the next one," said the girl, "but I saw Dad; and I've been sick of religion ever since. Besides, how do you explain the rotten things that happen in the world? Look at yesterday! The King of the Sea goes down with all on board. Were they all crooks? Were they all ready to die? They can tell me about God, but I say, 'Give me the proofs!'"
She looked at Connor defiantly. "There's just one thing I believe in," she said, "that's luck!"