which threatens to send his cogitations whooping down a thornier
and rosier lane than any Buddha ever knew. Besides I am thinking a
few worldly vanities have crept in and set him hack an eon or so.
He wears purple socks, pink ties and a dainty watch strapped around
his childish wrist.

When I asked him what impressed him most in America, he promptly
answered with his eyes on Sada, "Them girls. They are rapturous!"

Farewell Nirvana! With a camp stool in one hand and a rosary in
the other, he follows Sada San like the shadow on a sun dial.
Wherever she is seated, there is the stool and the royal youth, his
mournful eyes feasting on the curves and dimples of her face, her
lightest jest far sweeter than any prayer, the beads in his hand
forgotten.

The other would-be swain calls himself a Seeker of Truth.
Incidentally he is hunting a wife. His general attitude is a
constant reminder of the uncertainty of life. His presence makes
you glad that nothing lasts. He says his days are heavy with the
problems of the universe, but you can see for yourself that this
very commercial traveler carries a light side line in an assortment
of flirtations that surely must be like dancing little sunbeams on
a life of gloom.

Goodness knows how much of a nuisance he would be if it were not
for a little lady named Dolly, who sits beside him, gray in color,
dress and experience. At no uncertain age she has found a belated
youthfulness and is starting on the first pleasure trip of her life.