it when they got their new pastor, with a voice like a Bull o' Bashan
comin' down hill. Just wait till we load a few of them extra-sized
records with megaphone attachment into our pastor, and gear him up to
two hundred and fifty words a minute, and then where, oh, where is
Mister Campbellite, as the feller says.

"'Besides, brethren, this pastor, havin' no family, won't need his back
fence fixed; in fact, he won't need the parsonage; we can rent it, and
the proceeds will go toward operatin' expenses.

"'What we need to do,' I says in conclusion, 'is to get in line, get up
to date, give the people what they want. We have no way of judgin' the
future but by the past, as the feller says. We know they ain't no human
bein' can measure up to our requirements, so let's take a fall out of
science, and have enterprise and business sense.'"

J.P. Wamsley reached for a match.

"Did they accept your offer?" asked his companion. "I am anxious to know
how your plan worked. It has many points in its favor, I confess."

"No," replied J.P. Wamsley, as he meditatively puffed his cigar and
seemed to be lovingly reviewing the past. "No, they didn't. I'm kind o'
sorry, too. I'd like to have seen the thing tried myself. But," he
added, with a slow and solemn wink, "they passed a unanimous resolution
callin' back the old pastor at an increased salary."

"I should say, then, that your invention was a success."

"Well, I didn't lose out on it, anyhow. I've got John Henry rigged up