I feel like one or not."

"My son," his father answered him, sententiously, "it's your speech, not
mine. But if an old fogy may suggest something, why not forget all about
the usual sort of welcome address? Why not say something of the whole
program of our church as it affects our colored people? It touches the
young folks more than any others. Welcome them to that."

"That's all very fine," J.W. objected. "Everybody who's on for an
address of welcome is advised by his friends to cut out the old stuff,
but it means work. And you know that I don't know the first thing about
what you call the whole program of our church for the colored people.
That man Driver knows, but I can't ask him."

"Of course not," assented J.W., Sr., "but you can ask somebody else.
I'll venture Mr. Drury can tell you where to find all you would want to
talk about. Ask him. You're never bothered by bashfulness with him, if I
remember right."

J.W. admitted he had already thought of that. "He and I were talking
about this very thing the night before I went to see about that roofing.
But here's the point--I'm not to represent the pastor, but the young
people. And I'm not so sure that what Mr. Drury might give me, if he
were willing, could be made to fit into a League speech, under the
circumstances."

"I'd try it anyway," said the elder Farwell. "He's nearly always
willing, seems to me, and a pretty safe adviser most of the time."

"All right," agreed J.W., "I'll see him, but he'll probably tell me to
find things out for myself. He's a good scout, is Mr. Drury; the best
pastor I ever knew or want to know, but sometimes he has the queerest
streaks; won't help a fellow a little bit, and when you're absolutely
sure he could if he would. It won't be enough to see him, though; even
if he is in a generous mood and gives me more dope than I can use. I'd
better talk to some of the League people." And still he gravitated
toward the pastor's study. It was the easiest way.

The pastor was always in a more generous mood than J.W. gave him credit
for. It was only that he never supplied crutches when people needed to
use their legs, nor brains when they needed to use their heads, nor
emotions when they needed to use their hearts.

He told J.W. to rummage through the one bookshelf in the study which
held his small but usable collection of books and pamphlets on the
Negro, and see what he might find. And, as always, they talked.

"I can tell by that preach