“To the extent I have indicated, yes,” Dearing replied. “I think I could demonstrate scientifically that health of body and faith in something higher than mere matter go hand in hand. Tell a weak man that his body is sound, and he will gain strength; convince a man that he is hopelessly old, and he will no longer be buoyed up by the hope of life. Show him his grave, and he will begin to measure himself for it. Therefore--and here is where I am going to hit you, you old atheist,” Dearing continued, half jestingly--“let a man constantly argue to himself that life ends here on earth, and he will wither away physically, as he already has spiritually; for what would be the incentive to live if death ends all? I meet all sorts of men and women, and the healthiest old codgers I run across are the old chaps who believe they are sanctified. They may be as close as the bark of a tree, absolutely proof against any sort of charitable impulse, but the belief of their immortality keeps them pink and rosy to their graves; half of them die only because they want a change of residence, and expect to own a corner lot on the golden streets of the New Jerusalem. The preachers teach us that we've got to go through a lot of red-tape to be saved, but I believe the time will come when immortality will be demonstrated as plainly as the fact that decayed matter will reproduce life in a plant.” “Oh, life is too short to argue on these things,” Galt said, wearily. “You have always seen the thing one way, and I another. I am in good company. The greatest minds of the world have believed as I do. I can't say that I _want_ to live forever.” “Well, I do--I do,” returned Dearing. “There was a time, thanks to my early association with you, by-the-way, when I doubted; but I always had a frightful pang at the thought that the wonderful mystery of life must continue to be a closed book to me. I fought it, Kenneth, old man--I fought that thought day and night, because my soul was so enamoured with the great secret that I could not give it up; and now--well, on my honor, the faith in it has become my very existence. Without that prospect I'd stop right here. I'd not care to move an inch. I'd as soon cut your throat as to treat you as a friend. But I didn't come to preach. What is that you've got stacked up on the table--drawings for another trunk-line?” “No.” Galt rose languidly and smiled. “I'll show you something very pretty. You know I am fond of good pictures, and I flatter myself that I have discovered a genius. There is an art dealer, F. B. Jenkins, in Atlanta, whom I know pretty well, and he called me in the other day to show me some water-color pictures by a young girl, who, it seems, is too modest to allow her name to be used. Then, too, I think he regards her as his find, and doesn't want other dealers to know about her. I bought these.”