“I know. I know. I just wonder sometimes— All the new vocations that are coming up. Medicine. Advertising. World just going it! I tell you, Dean, in another forty years, by 1943, men will be up in the air in flying machines, going maybe a hundred miles an hour!”
“My dear fellow, if the Lord had meant men to fly, he’d have given us wings.”
“But there are prophecies in the Book—”
“Those refer purely to spiritual and symbolic flying. No, no! Never does to oppose the clear purpose of the Bible, and I could dig you out a hundred texts that show unquestionably that the Lord intends us to stay right here on earth till that day when we shall be upraised in the body with him.”
“Herumph! Maybe. Well, here’s my corner. Good night, Brother.”
The dean came into his house. It was a small house.
“How’d it go?” asked his wife.
“Splendid. Young Gantry seemed to feel an unmistakable divine call. Something struck him that just uplifted him. He’s got a lot of power. Only—”
The dean irritably sat down in a cane-seated rocker, jerked off his shoes, grunted, drew on his slippers.
“Only, hang it, I simply can’t get myself to like him! Emma, tell me: If I were his age now, do you think I’d go into the ministry, as things are today?”