I suppose he was coming on to meet us alone, because no one was fitten fur to give us the first welcome but himself.
Well, it was all dern foolishness, and it was hard to believe it could all happen, and they ain't so many places in this here country it COULD happen.

But fur all of it being foolishness, when he come down the road toward us so dignified and sollum and slow I ketched myself fur a minute feeling like we really had been elected to something and was going to take office soon.

And Sam, as the bishop come closeter and closeter, got to jerking and twitching with the excitement that he had been keeping in--and yet all the time Sam knowed it was dope and works and not faith that had made him spotted that-a-way.
He stops, the bishop does, about ten yards from us and looks us over.
"Ah yo' de gennleman known ter dis hyah sinful genehation by de style an' de entitlemint o' Docto' Hahtley Kirby ?" he asts the doctor very ceremonious and grand.
The doctor give him a look that wasn't very encouraging, but he nodded to him.
"Will yo' dismiss yo' sehvant in ordeh dat we kin hol' convehse an' communion in de midst er privacy ?" The doctor, he nods to Sam, and Sam moseys along toward the church.
"Now, then," says the doctor, sudden and sharp, "take off your hat and tell me what you want." The bishop's hand goes up to his head with a jerk before he thought.
Then it stops there, while him and the doctor looks at each other.

The bishop's mouth opens like he was wondering, but he slowly pulls his hat off and stands there bare-headed in the road.

But he wasn't really humble, that bishop.
"Now," says the doctor, "tell me in as straight talk as you've got what all this damned foolishness among you niggers means." A queer kind of look passed over the bishop's face.