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Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda
page 48 of 654 (07%)
we are only two?" Amar smiled impudently. "I am not a magician; I
can't conjure up a third companion."

The official, noticeably disconcerted by this impertinence, sought
a new field of attack.

"What is your name?"

"I am called Thomas. I am the son of an English mother and a
converted Christian Indian father."

"What is your friend's name?"

"I call him Thompson."

By this time my inward mirth had reached a zenith; I unceremoniously
made for the train, whistling for departure. Amar followed with
the official, who was credulous and obliging enough to put us into
a European compartment. It evidently pained him to think of two
half-English boys traveling in the section allotted to natives. After
his polite exit, I lay back on the seat and laughed uncontrollably.
My friend wore an expression of blithe satisfaction at having
outwitted a veteran European official.

On the platform I had contrived to read the telegram. From my brother,
it went thus: "Three Bengali boys in English clothes running away
from home toward Hardwar via Moghul Serai. Please detain them until
my arrival. Ample reward for your services."

"Amar, I told you not to leave marked timetables in your home." My
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