But there is an end of night, and so there is an end to _Kali-Yug_.

Bide ye the time, and watch!" King drew me away, and we returned up-street between old temples and new iron-fronted stores toward Mulji Singh's quarters where he had left the traveling bag that we shared between us.
"Is that Gray Mahatma linked up with propaganda in the U.S.A ?" I asked, wondering.
"What's more," King answered, "he's dangerous; he's sincere--the most dangerous type of politician in the world--the honest visionary, in love with an abstract theory, capable of offering himself for martyrdom.
Watch him now!" The crowd was beginning to close in on the Mahatma, seeking to touch him.

Suddenly he flew into a fury, seized a long stick from some one near him and began beating them over the head, using both hands and laying on so savagely that ashes fell from him like pipe-clay from a shaken bag, and several men ran away with the blood pouring down their faces.

However, they were reckoned fortunate.
"Some of those will charge money to let other fools touch them," said King.

"Come on.