Excerpt: ...objection that it be held at all. I wonder if we might hear from that gentleman next?" The white haired, ramrod erect, man stood next to his chair, not bothering to come to the head of the room. "You may indeed," he snapped. "I am Bishop Manning of the United Negro Missionaries, an organization attempting to accomplish the only truly important task that cries for completion on this largely godless continent. Accomplish this, and all else will fall into place." Homer Crawford said, "I assume you refer to the conversion of the populace." "I do indeed. And the work others do is meaningless until that has been accomplished. We are bringing religion to Africa, but not through white missionaries who in the past lived off the natives, but through Negro missionaries who live with them. I call upon all of you to give up your present occupations and come to our assistance." Elmer Allan's voice was sarcastic. "These people need less superstition, not more." The bishop spun on him. "I am not speaking of superstition, young man!" Elmer Allen said. "All religions are superstitions, except one's own." "And yours?" the Bishop barked. "I'm an agnostic." The bishop snorted his disgust and made his way to the door. There he turned and had his last word. "All you do is meaningless. I pray you, again, give it up and join in the Lord's work." Homer Crawford nodded to him. "Thank you, Bishop Manning. I'm sure we will all consider your words." When the older man was gone, he looked out over the hall again. "Well, who is next?" A thus far speechless member of the audience, seated in the first row, came to his feet. His face was serious and strained, the face of a man who pushes himself beyond the point of efficiency in the vain effort to accomplish more by expenditure of added hours. He came to the front and said, "Since I'm possibly the only one here who also has objections to the reason for calling this meeting, I might as well have my say now." He half turned to...
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