“Go ahead, Mr. Gibby,” and Stone smiled encouragingly. “I like to hear from different observers.”
“Well, this Swami is a heathen fake, who has come into this community here and bamboozled most of the women and some of the men into thinking he is a real priest or whatever the holy theosophists call themselves.”
“Are you certain he is not, Mr. Gibby?”
“Well,” Pete wilted a little, “well, he hasn’t the earmarks of the real thing and he has all the effects of a fraud. He hangs round the women, and fawns on them, and picks up meals wherever he can—wonder he isn’t here tonight—and he gets contributions from them for his cause, which, to my way of thinking, is his unholy self.”
“Mr. Gibby, I am afraid you are prejudiced against this mystic, or whatever branch of religion he calls his own. Per
