Yes, and to himself; for, you know, spiritually there's so much less
hope for the moralist than what there is for the up-and-down reprobate!
You know that,--_Smith_."

My silence implied that I knew it, though I did not feel any brighter,
happier or cleaner.

"Smith, Ned Ferry is not only a Romanist, he's a romanticist. We--you
and me--are religionists. _Our_ brightness and happiness air the
brightness and happiness of faith; our cleanness is the cleanness of
religious scruples. Worst of it with Ned is he's satisfied with the
difference, I'm afraid! That's what makes him so pleasant to fellows who
don't care a sou marquee about religion."

I said one might respect religion even if he did not--

"Oh, he's always _polite_ to it; but he's--he's read Voltaire! Oh, yes,
Voltaire, George Sand, all those men. He questions the Bible, Smith. Not
to me, though; hah, he knows better! Smith, I can discuss religion and
not get mad, with any one who don't question the Bible; but if he does
that, I just tell you, I wouldn't risk my soul in such a discussion!
Would you?"

I could hardly say, and we moved pensively toward Major Harper's tent.
Evidently the main poison was still in Gholson's stomach, and when I
glanced at him he asked, "What d'you reckon brought Ned Ferry here just
at this time?"

I made no reply. He looked momentous, leaned to me sidewise with a hand
horizontally across his mouth, and whispered a name. It was new to me.