argue why there should be a future life. From the other, you argue why there shouldn't. Nobody knows, and you can argue indefinitely. Nobody knows the answer, and there you are. Personally, I'm too busy to waste my time that way, even if I were inclined to, which I'm not."

Norton smiled good-naturedly at Carrington. "I believe I'm going to prove my point, after all," he said. "Lieutenant, let's hear from you."

Osborne flicked the ash from his cigar. "Well," he answered slowly, "you chaps have got me a little out of my depth, I'm afraid, but I was brought up to believe in God, and I guess it's the best way, on the whole. It's the most comfortable, anyway, and saves a nervous fellow a lot of worrying. Yes, I think I'm willing to go on record as a believer in a future state."

Norton laughed aloud. "Good for you, Lieutenant!" he cried. "You've raised the average, anyway. I'm afraid we're a pretty godless crowd here. Now, Gordon, it's up to you to complete the thing. Are you with the wicked majority or the select minority?"

Gordon gave no sign of hesitation, "Why," he cried quickly, "I confess I'm amazed at you fellows. I wouldn't believe you now, if you hadn't said beforehand that you were in earnest. I've always believed that if you throw over religion you're throwing over everything that makes for right and decency and the general welfare. Put me on record with the lieutenant, by all means, and we'll form what you call the respectable minority. You other chaps are a lot of rank atheists. I'm ashamed of you."

Norton clapped his hands softly. "Good! Good!" he cried. "I don't mean your ideas, Gordon, but that you've helped prove my point to perfection. I said that no two people would think exactly alike, and look at the result here. One atheist, one agnostic, one man too lazy not to believe, one too lazy—he claims too busy—to believe either way, and one noble example who goes the limit and believes everything, including, I suppose, that the devil has horns and a tail, and that the whale swallowed Jonah. Isn't that proof positive of my claim? Almost every known variety of belief and disbelief, I should say."

Gordon promptly demurred. "No, not quite all," he said quietly. "I ran across a queer case the other day, if you fellows care to hear about it."

A chorus of assent greeted him, and he began slowly. "It was really rather a queer case, as I just said. I dare say the man isn't quite right mentally. A screw loose somewhere, I should judge. At all events, he's worked out the theory that everything on earth is nothing but a gamble, and that Life—and Death—and Immortality—are merely the biggest gambles of all. His reasoning—he talked to me a whole evening about it, but I'll try to give it to you in brief, and as near as I can in his own words—is this: Every man, if he knew for a certainty that there wasn't any God, would do exactly as he wished; that is, he'd live a pretty free sort of a life, behave about as he pleased, and in general have a mighty good time. On the other hand, if he knew there was a God, he'd probably live as straight as he could for the pleasure of enjoying eternal bliss, and all that sort of thing, afterwards, and keeping clear of the sulphur and brimstone. So there's your gamble, and it's really a very pretty one. Proceed on the assumption that there is a God, and get along without any fun here, in the hope of making up for it later when you get your harp and crown; or else choose the other end of it, go the pace, and when you die, if you've guessed right and there isn't any Heaven, you're away ahead of the poor devils who've played close to their chests here. On the other hand, if you've been unlucky enough to hit it wrong, you're down and out and bound straight for hell and eternal damnation."

He stopped abruptly amid an attentive silence. Then, as no comment seemed to be forthcoming, he continued even more slowly. "To me, I confess the man's way of putting the thing was undeniably interesting. What I didn't grasp at first was how far the proposition carried you logically. You fellows who profess not to believe in anything don't really act out your disbelief, because somehow in the very bottom of your hearts you feel that there may be a hereafter, and you don't want to take any chances. That is, not to put it too disagreeably, this fellow would consider you, in the slang of the track, a lot of cheap pikers. But suppose you have the courage to follow out his ideas to the limit, and choose one way or the other. You can't kick. Your chance is even, and if you're willing to put up all you've got that there isn't a God, your life becomes nothing but pleasure. Just think of it. You're no longer bothered by any moral law; you're free to indulge your passions and your appetites as you please. You can get drunk every day, if that's your idea of enjoyment, or you can steal your friend's money, or his wife, or both, provided you don't get found out. What odds? In place of the groveling worm the preachers make you out to be, you're Kipling's 'gentleman unafraid,' taking a gentlemanly gamble with a mythical creator. It's a bold conception of life; there's no denying it. The man certainly interested me."

He broke off abruptly. Doctor Norton was the first to speak. "It is interesting!" he exclaimed. "I call it a first-class sporting proposition, and he's dead right on one point. We don't any of us, when you come right down to it, try to be good or to do good just for the love of it; it's really only selfish prudence, sort of a credit account against a rainy day. But on his main proposition I should say your friend must have something wrong with his upper story. A man's good from reasons of prudence, or he's bad because he's got what we call criminal instincts, but no man in his senses would sit down and reason the thing out as this fellow has."

"Why not, Doctor?" demanded Carrington quickly. "It's all logical enough, as Gordon says, if you've only got the nerve. But most of us haven't. It isn't pleasant to think of your finish if you chose the sporting end of the thing and then there turned out to be a God after all. I claim there's something magnificent about it, though. Is he going to live out his theories, Gordon?"

Gordon shook his head. "I confess I don't know," he answered; "he's a queer chap, and I didn't like to ask him point blank whether he was in earnest or not. Personally, though, I believe he was, and that sooner or later he'll choose what you call the sporting end."

Gradually the conversation swung back to less serious channels, and in another half hour the little party broke up.

Leisurely enough Gordon strolled along on his homeward way. It was a perfect summer night, the park lying bathed in the mellow light of the full moon riding high in the peaceful heavens. Perhaps it was but the effect of the moonlight, but his face seemed to wear an expression very different from that of the man who had declared his faith so boldly an hour before.

"The old, old riddle," he muttered to himself; "worthless, and yet worth so much." And, after a pause, he added meditatively: "The sporting end."

CHAPTER III

THE FLATFOOT

South of the park, sloping away towards the east, lies the residential section of the city, highly respectable and always in its conduct a model of propriety. Across the park, to the north, lies the shopping district; and adjoining it, to the westward, is the great business section, with the Stock Exchange, the Markets, the Chamber of Commerce, and the Government Building. Turning north again, we come to the bay itself,