He folded his vestments, put
away the hymn-books, and closed the great Bible. He stepped
out into the twilight, looked back upon the narrow little pulpit
with a weary smile, and locked the door. Then he walked
briskly to the Bishop, and told the Bishop what the Bishop
already knew. "I have failed," he said simply. And gaining
courage by the confession, he added: "What I need is a larger
constituency. There are comparatively few Negroes here, and
perhaps they are not of the best. I must go where the field is
wider, and try again." So the Bishop sent him to Philadel-
phia, with a letter to Bishop Onderdonk.
Bishop Onderdonk lived at the head of six white steps,--
corpulent, red-faced, and the author of several thrilling tracts
on Apostolic Succession. It was after dinner, and the Bishop
had settled himself for a pleasant season of contemplation,
when the bell must needs ring, and there must burst in upon
the Bishop a letter and a thin, ungainly Negro. Bishop
Onderdonk read the letter hastily and frowned. Fortunately,
his mind was already clear on this point; and he cleared his
brow and looked at Crummell.
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