“But,” Parson Stump complained, “I’m the secretary!”
“We’ll go right on, brother.”
“I can’t very well stay, brethren,” said Parson Stump, chagrined. “It’s a case of––of––of spiritual consolation.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Parson Lute.
“And I––”
“Now, Brother Wile,” the chairman interrupted, “we’re ready to hear you.”
“One moment,” said Parson Lute, rising. He struggled to suppress his cough. “Excuse me,” he gasped. And, “I don’t quite see, brethren,” he proceeded, “how this meeting can get along without the services of Brother Stump. It seems to me that this meeting needs Brother Stump. I am of opinion that Brother Stump owes it to the cause in general, and to the clergy of this district in particular, to report this discussion to the conference. It is my conviction, brethren, that Brother Stump––by his indefatigable industry, by his thorough acquaintance with the matters under discussion, by his spiritual insight into problems of this character, by his talent for expression––ought to be present through the whole of this discussion, in its entirety, and ought to present the views of this body to the conference in person.” And, “Look here, Brother Stump,” he concluded, turning, “why can’t I make this call for you?”
“Well, of course, you could, Brother Lute,” Parson Stump admitted, his face beginning to clear, “but really I––”
“Oh, come now, brother!”