“I’m sure of that, Mr. Farwell,” said the other, heartily, “and if I have any influence with the committee—­and I think I have—­you needn’t lose any sleep over any other figures we might get.  As for being inquisitive about our work here, I wish more of this town’s white Methodists would get inquisitive.  And that reminds me:  there’s to be an Epworth League convention here week after next, and I’ve been told to invite one of the League leaders in your church to make a short address on the opening night.  You’re a League leader, I know, and the first one I’ve thought about.  So I’m asking you, right now.  Will you come over and speak for us?”

Now, though J.W. always said he was no speaker, he had never hesitated to accept invitations to take part in League conventions.  But this was different.  He made no answer for a minute.  And in the pause his mind was busy with all he knew, and all he had acquired at second hand, about the relations of colored Christians and white, and particularly about what might be thought and said if it should be announced that he was to speak at a Negro Epworth League convention.  And then he had the grace to blush, realizing that this colored pastor, waiting so quietly for his answer, must infallibly have followed his thoughts.  In his swift self-blame he felt that the least amends he could make for his unspoken discourtesy was a prompt acceptance of the invitation.

So he looked up and said, hurriedly:  “Mr. Driver, forgive me for not speaking sooner.  I’ll do the best I can”; and then, regaining his composure, “Have you any idea as to the subject I’m supposed to talk about?”

“Yes,” the colored minister replied, not without a touch of curious tenseness in his voice.  “The committee wanted me to get a representative from your Chapter to make a ten-minute address of welcome on behalf of the Epworthians of First Church!”

Again J.W. was forced to hesitate.  Here he was an Epworthian, but knowing nothing at all about the work of these other young Methodists.  Until to-day he scarcely knew they existed.  And now he was asked to welcome them to town in the name of the League!

But once again shame compelled him to take the bold course.  With an apologetic smile he said, “Well, that’s the last subject I could imagine you’d give to any of us at First Church.  Your young people and ours have hardly been aware of each other, and it seems queer that you should ask me to make an address of welcome in your church.  But as I think of it, maybe this is just what somebody ought to do, and I might as well try it.  Trouble is, what am I going to say?”

“We’ll risk that, Mr. Farwell,” said Pastor Driver, confidently.  “Just say what you think, and you’ll do all right.”