Of course I like to hear a good talker, and I enjoy the music, but
their everlasting pretending to be what they are not, is what gets me.
You take this town right here now," he continued, pushing his hat back
from his forehead; "we've got ten or twelve churches and as many
preachers; they all say that they are following Christ, and profess
to exist for the good of men and the glory of God. And what are they
actually doing to make this place better? There's not a spot in this
city, outside a saloon, where a man can spend an hour when he's not
at work; and not a sign of a place where a fellow down on his luck can
stay all night. Only last week, a clean honest young printer, who was
out of money through no fault of his own, struck me for a job, and
before night fainted from hunger; and yet, the preachers say that
Christ told us to feed the hungry, and that if we didn't it counted
against us as though we had let him starve. According to their own
teaching, what show have these churches in Boyd City when they spend
every cent they can rake and scrape to keep their old machines running
and can't feed even one hungry man? Your church members are all right
on the believe, trust, hope, pray and preach, but they're not so much
on the do. And I've noticed it's the _do_ that counts in this life.
Why, their very idea of Heaven is that it's a loafing place, where you
get more than you ask for or have any right to expect."

"Gettin' a little excited, ain't ye?" smiled Uncle Bobbie, though there
was a tear twinkling in his sharp old eyes.

"Yes I am," retorted the other. "It's enough to excite anyone who has
a heart to feel and eyes to see the misery in this old world, and then
to be asked eternally, 'Why don't you go to church?' Why look at 'em;
they even let their own preachers starve when they get too old to work.
Societies and lodges don't do that. I don't mean to step on your toes