William Wallace Cook

“ I breathed hard. I love a joke as well as any man, but when a scheming kitchen mechanic makes a poor, innocent Hindoo, ’way off in the desert of Gobi, and a bald-headed theosophist, right there in Hoboken, her victims, it sets my blood to boiling.
I watched Sallie after that, and I caught her, one night, jabbing the potato-masher into a button of wax, sealing a request on Smithers to raise her pay for the thirtieth time. We had a few words and parted, and Sallie is now writing mahatma messages for some one else. ”

“ SOMEWHERE IN the desert of Gobi lives a very exclusive gentleman named Koot Sombali who does nothing from dawn till dewy eve but meditate and project messages. No matter how many thousands of miles a Koot-Sombali-message is to travel, nor through how many thicknesses of wood, brick, stone or mortar it is required to pass, it makes the trip, and does it before you can say “Jack Robinson.” ”

“ Our theosophical society—composed of men entirely—religiously framed all my messages as fast as received, and whenever a brother got a little weak in the esoteric dogma, he was confronted with this overpowering testimony. ”