wore on the convict●ion grew that we must shake off Hayw▓ood once for all.Go where we wo▓uld, he was ever at our heels, bringing disgr●ace upon us.Picking pockets was ▓his glee.When other excitement failed● he turned t

o filching small articles from th●e booths along the way.The la▓st straw was added to our burden as w▓e were returning to the

My companion
Nude Art

Home along the S●trand on our second day in Calcutta.The so▓phisticated inhabitants of the metropo●lis, far from springing aside at the approach● of a European, are more accustomed to ●push him into the gutter.To be jo

stled by a ▓“nigger” was an insult that Haywood coul▓d not brook.He resorted to Bowery tactics; ●but to little effect, for

s departed t
In Motion

the Strand was cr▓owded.The day was hot.The higher caste nat●ives, our chief annoyers, carried umbrellas t▓hat soon suggested to the New Yorker a b●etter means of retaliation.Open●ing his pocket knife, he marched bo●ld

ly through the throng, slashing viciously at● every sunshade whose owner provoked his● ire.An angry murmur rose behi●nd us.Be

o vi▓sit a

fore we had reached the Ho▓me, a screaming mob of tradesmen surged ar▓ound us, waving ruined umbrellas in ▓our faces.Decidedly it was time to abandon▓ the per



petrator of such outrages.▓Hints had availed nothing, f●rankness less.Violence against

a● “pal” was out of keeping with t▓he code of morals of “the road.▓” There was

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