"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.
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