make it out?"

"Well, just like the little Mexican, he seems to spend his time
peddling puzzles. He passes a puzzle out to everybody, and they
spend all their lives tryin' to work it out They all get stuck. I
can't work mine out. I don't know where to start. And look at the
puzzle he passed Sarah. And she's part of Tom's puzzle, and she
only makes his worse. And they all, an' everybody I know--you,
too--are part of my puzzle."

"Mebbe the puzzles is all right," Mary considered. "But God don't
look like that yellow little Greaser. THAT I won't fall for. God
don't look like anybody. Don't you remember on the wall at the
Salvation Army it says 'God is a spirit'?"

"That's another one of his puzzles, I guess, because nobody knows
what a spirit looks like."

"That's right, too." Mary shuddered with reminiscent fear.
"Whenever I try to think of God as a spirit, I can see Hen Miller
all wrapped up in a sheet an' runnin' us girls. We didn't know,
an' it scared the life out of us. Little Maggie Murphy fainted
dead away, and Beatrice Peralta fell an' scratched her face
horrible. When I think of a spirit all I can see is a white sheet
runnin' in the dark. Just the same, God don't look like a
Mexican, an' he don't wear his hair parted."

A strain of music from the dancing pavilion brought both girls
scrambling to their feet.