“Mac, would you like me to say a prayer?” he asked. “Just as you feel about it, you know.”
“Yes—I would—but I ain't—your religion—you know—though—I like—awful well—the way—you talk about—Him.”
“I know you are R. C., Mac, but after all you know we have just the one Father in Heaven and the one Saviour.”
“Yes,—I know, Barry. It's all the same.”
Barry had a sudden inspiration.
“Wait, Mac, a minute,” he said.
He hurried out to the dressing room, seeking a crucifix, but could find none there.
“I'll run across to Headquarters,” he said.
“Say, there's a machine gun playing that street awful,” said the M. O.'s sergeant, “to say nothing of whizzbangs.”
“Oh, that's all right,” said Barry. “I'll make a dash for it.”