To St. Gandhi, sitting last week in the small city of Borsad, came an Indian woman, rich, modest and adoring.
"Who I am does not matter, Mahatma," said she, "but accept, Great Soul, this silver throne and this silver footstool!"
Blinking and winking, the small scrawny Mahatma peered up at the rich Indian woman's big servants, holding respectfully the silver throne & silver footstool.
Merrily St. Gandhi cried, "Let us have an auction! How much am I bid for these good gifts?"
While the throne-giver hung her head. Auctioneer Gandhi worked up the bids of...