Amidst surroundings thus happily suggesting the idyllic and
pastoral associations of Arcady, is an unpretending booth,
the placards on which announce it to be the temporary
resting-place of the "Far-famed Adepts of Thibet," who are
there for a much-needed change, after a "3500 years' residence
in the Desert of Gobi." There is also a solemn warning that
"it is impossible to spoof a Mahatma." In front of this booth,
a fair-headed, round-faced, and Spectacled Gentleman, in
evening clothes, and a particularly crumpled shirt-front--who
presents a sort of compromise between the Scientific Savant
and the German Waiter has just locked up his Assistant in
a wooden pillory, for no obvious reason except to attract
a crowd. The crowd collects accordingly, and includes a
Comic Coachman, who, with his Friend--a tall and speechless
nonentity--has evidently come out to enjoy himself_.
[Illustration: "I have here two ordinary clean clay pipes."]
_The Spectacled Gentleman_ (_letting the Assistant out of the
pillory, with the air of a man who does not often unbend to these
frivolities_). Now, Gentlemen, I am sure all those whom I see around
me have heard of those marvellous beings--the Mahatmas--and how they
can travel through space in astral bodies, and produce matter out of
nothing at all.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25