It's heaven or hell, both
now and hereafter! We can begin heaven right now if we want to, and live
it on through; and that's what these folks have done. You don't hear
them sitting here fighting like the professors used to do, about whether
there's a heaven or a hell! They know there's both. They're living in
one and pulling folks out of the other, hard as they can; and they're
too blamed busy, following out the Bible and seeing it prove itself, to
listen to all the twaddle to prove that it ain't so! I sure am darned
glad you gave me the tip and I got a chance to get in on this little old
game, for it's the best game I know, and the best part about it is it
lasts forever!"
Tennelly was away all that summer, doing the fashionable summer resorts
and taking a California trip. The next winter he spent in Washington.
Uncle Ramsey had him at work, and Courtland ran on him in his office
once, when he took a hurried trip down to see what he could do for the
eight-hour bill. Tennelly looked grave and sad. He was touchingly glad
to see Courtland. They did not speak of Gila once, but when Courtland
lay in his sleepless sleeper on the return trip that night Tennelly's
face haunted him, the wistfulness in it.
A few months later Tennelly wrote a brief note announcing the birth of a
daughter, named Doris Ramsey after his grandmother. The tone of his
letter seemed more cheerful.
Courtland was so happy that winter he could scarcely contain himself.
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