are growing to see the light," said the
mulatto in low, musical tones. "The mighty but simple principles of
Azamud are coming into their own. The poor and lowly, the humble and
oppressed are learning that in me is their salvation--." He went on in
his beautiful voice explaining the Colony of the Unlimited Life,
addressing always Bob directly and paying little attention to Baker, who
stood aside, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his fat, good-natured
face. It seemed that the Colony lived in tents in a canon of the
foothills. It paid Larue fifty dollars a head, and in return was
supported for six months and instructed in the mysteries of the cult. It
had its regimen. "At three we arise and break our fast, quite simply,
with three or four dry prunes," breathed Larue, "and then, going forth
to the high places for one hour, we hold steadfast the thought of Love."

"Say, Sunny," broke in Baker, "how many you got rounded up now?"

"There are at present twenty-one earnest proselytes."

"At fifty a head--and you've got to feed and keep 'em somehow--even
three dried prunes cost you something in the long run"--ruminated Baker.
He turned briskly to the mulatto: "Sunny, on the dead, where does the
graft come in?"

The mulatto drew himself up in swift offence, scrutinized Bob closely
for a moment, met Baker's grin. Abruptly his impressive manner dropped
from him. He leaned toward them with a captivating flash of white teeth.

"_You just leave that to me_," he murmured, and glided away into the
crowd.

Baker laughed and drew Bob's arm within his own.

"Out of twenty of the faithful there's sure to be one or two with life
savings stowed away in a sock, and Sunny's the boy to make them produce
the sock."

"What's his cult, anyway?" asked Bob. "I mean, what do they pretend to
believe? I couldn't make out."

"A nigger's idea of Buddhism," replied Baker briefly. "But you can get
any brand of psychic damfoolishness you think you need in your business.
They do it all, here, from going barefoot, eating nuts, swilling olive
oil, rolling down hill, adoring the Limitless Whichness, and all the
works. It is now," he concluded, looking at his watch, "about ten
o'clock. We will finish the evening by dropping in on the Fuzzies."

Together they boarded a street car, which shortly deposited them at an
uptown corner. Large houses and spacious grounds indicated a district of
some wealth. To one of these houses, brilliantly lighted, Baker