"
"Believe in God?"
"Two." This was a guarded admission; I caught his side glance.
"Which ones?" I asked it cordially; and Pete smiled as one who detects a
brother liberal in theology.
"Injin God; Christian God. Injin God go like this--" He brushed out his
latest figure and drew a straight line a foot long. And Christian God go
so--he drew a second straight line perpendicular to the first. I was
made to see the line of his own God extending over the earth some fifty
feet above its surface, while the line of the Christian God went
straight and endlessly into the heavens. "Injin God stay
close--Christian God go straight up. Whoosh!" He looked toward the
zenith to indicate the vanishing line. "I think mebbe both O.K. You
think both O.K.?"
"Mebbe," I said.
Pete retraced the horizontal line of his own God and the perpendicular
line of the other.
"Funny business," said he tolerantly.
"Funny business," I echoed. And then--the moment seeming ripe for
intimate personal research: "Pete, how about that brother-in-law of
yours? Is he a one-God Christian or a two-God, like you?"
He hurriedly brushed out his lines, flashed me one of his uneasy side
glances, and seemed not to have heard my question.
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