Mr. Jasper was interested in India long before he touched Bombay, going east. This happened because his sister was a member of a theosophical class back in Syracuse. He had heard of “dreamy India” for many years, of Madras and the Ganges, of _yogis_ and astral bodies, of esoteric sections and H.P.B., of Sinnett, Olcott, Besant, masters, famines, of _karma_, _devachan_, _pralaya_, of metempsychosis and the Great White Lodge of the Himalayas.... “Go to Madras, James,” his sister had told him. “By all means, go to Madras. Our headquarters and our libraries of occult literature are there. It may be that our president and founder, Mr. Olcott, will meet you personally, or Annie Besant, the most noted woman in the world. Don’t call it ‘Bes_ant_’, like the author, but as if it were spelled ‘_Bes_sant.’ There are reasons, James, _esoteric reasons_.” And so Mr. Jasper went to Madras. He took the hand of white-bearded Olcott,[A] a rounded man, who had not lost interest in the New York bar or press simply because he was president and founder of a great body of generally refined men and women who have the temerity to believe that buying cheap and selling dear is not the supreme glory of man. Also Mr. Jasper pronounced it “_Bes_sant,” for esoteric reasons, but he did not meet the most noted woman in the world, since she had taken her annual flight to London. In the midst of all his seeing and smelling and brooding among the coast cities of India, Mr. Jasper was impressed with the dire poverty of certain districts. The heart of the man was wrung, and his brain filled with the Everlasting Why. At the house of a missionary in Nizagari, he ascertained certain facts. The Hindus of the town were hungry. They came to the missionary, men and wives and babes, and begged most pitifully for food. “If we could only eat food once in two days, we would ask no more!” they cried. “God, this is famine--the famine of the Bible!” exclaimed the American. “Ah, no,” replied the missionary. “You must allow me to correct you. There is no _recognized_ famine in Nizagari.” “If this is not famine--what does the word mean?” “Go to the central provinces,” the missionary said wearily. “Famine is declared there.” Mr. Jasper thought long that night. He recalled being left once, when he was a much younger man, in New York city over night without money. The metropolis was a city of strangers to him then, but, as now, a city of pure and plenteous water, free lunches, and benches to sit upon. Moreover, it was a summer night; and yet before mail-time in the morning, Mr. Jasper felt that his cosmos had dropped into chaos.... “I will arise and go to the Central Provinces,” he declared. After many weary days, he alighted from his train in the hot, fetid city of Nagpur.