The reverend flushed. "They wouldn't listen to my pleas that they forsake this devil's invention."
"Naturally not. Work with this thing and you'll come out all right. But you've got to revise your thinking as well as the rest of the world has had to revise theirs, or you'll fall by the wayside. Now good day, reverend, and I wish you luck."
"Your argument may have merit," said the reverend, "though it is against the nature of things to fall in with any scheme without considerable thought."
"Think it over, then, and see if I'm not correct. I don't expect any immediate change, though, until you find that your former doctrines do not fit the people's wants now."
The reverend left, and as the door closed, a wave of pain swept through Keg Johnson's body. He reached for the telephone painfully and put a call through for the doctor.
"It's here again," he said.
"O.K., Keg. You're it."
"I'm licked, all right. Can I be back in seven days?"
"Make it three days with no mention of work. In five days you can have official visitors for three hours. In seven you may be up and around the hospital. You'll not be back there for eleven days."
"I'll have to put it off."