"Yes, by----!" said Turnbull, with an oath, "and ended when the
Zoological Gardens were founded."

"In this garden! In my presence!" cried the stranger, stamping up
and down the gravel and choking with laughter," whether there is
a God!" And he went stamping up and down the garden, making it
echo with his unintelligible laughter. Then he came back to them
more composed and wiping his eyes.

"Why, how small the world is!" he cried at last. "I can settle
the whole matter. Why, I am God!"

And he suddenly began to kick and wave his well-clad legs about
the lawn.

"You are what?" repeated Turnbull, in a tone which is beyond
description.

"Why, God, of course!" answered the other, thoroughly amused.
"How funny it is to think that you have tumbled over a garden
wall and fallen exactly on the right person! You might have gone
floundering about in all sorts of churches and chapels and
colleges and schools of philosophy looking for some evidence of
the existence of God. Why, there is no evidence, except seeing
him. And now you've seen him. You've seen him dance!"

And the obliging old gentleman instantly stood on one leg without
relaxing at all the grave and cultured benignity of his
expression.