“With kindness you give it. Obligation is mine,” said the Swami, with a deferential movement of his hands. “And I go at once to devote myself to my greatest work. But now I have visited a lady, Mrs. Appleton, who has great interest in me, and who desires to form what she calls a class. I call it, rather, a circle of my friends.”
“And what do you do with them?” asked Mr. Murdock, with the same bald curiosity that one displays at the zoo before the performing seals.
“We increase the sum of nobility in the world,” said the Swami softly. “We sit together in long white robes, such as you see on me, and we pour out love upon the universe.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Murdock. He was too astonished to pursue his investigations.
“It is a serene and blessed occupation,” said the Swami.
“And do they—does the class pay for that?” Murdock recovered so far as to ask.
“Pay? Not so!” said the Swami indignantly. “I ask of life no more than a bare existence and that, a thousand times that, is mine, by the benevolence of Mr. Early.”
“They’re devilish pretty women, some of ’em, though. You have that reward,” said Mr. Early jocularly.
The Swami cast on him a glance of cow-like anger, but Mr. Murdock went on persistently: “And they don’t give you any money at all?”
“For myself, no. Some, if it harmonize with their desires, make contribution through me to the great temple in India, where the brothers may assemble, a sacred spot among the lonely hills. Some give to that, but not to me. But I must no longer interrupt. I have made my salute. I go to my remote room.”