THROUGH THE HEART OF HINDUSTAN 



451 



of barbaric showiness 

 and amazing lack of 

 taste. Her eyes were 

 hard, not as of those 

 who repeatedly taste 

 bitter-sweet, but the 

 straight-looking eyes 

 of a man of purpose. 

 The crown jewels of 

 a continent could not 

 have rendered her at- 

 tractive, yet simplic- 

 ity might have given 

 her real char m. 

 Priestess of pleasure 

 though she was, she 

 seemed a solemn 

 stranger to delight. 



The wrinkled socks 

 and the white waist 

 buttoned high beneath 

 a necklace that would 

 protect a bull dog's 

 throat were too much. 

 I had glimpsed from 

 below a picture of 

 heathen witchery. 

 Confronting me was 

 a being for whom a 

 Milton or a Dante 

 could find no words 

 but prose. I sug- 

 gested removing the 

 socks and hiding the 

 triangle of white cloth 

 at the throat behind 

 the ugly vest. 



To have the socks 

 removed was the work 

 of an instant. Em- 

 boldened by this I 

 even tried to get her 

 to lay aside her shim 

 under no consideration would she bare 

 her throat to me or to my camera, even 

 though she wore enough jewelry to hide 

 some modern creations. The old woman 

 of the place understood my wants and 

 finally the cloth was pushed aside, dis- 

 closing a very fair throat. 



"I tell her foreign womens do so," ex- 

 plained the antique hag to account for 

 her success. 



By this time a second girl with a giggle 

 asked that her picture be taken, and again 

 some of the jewelry changed hands. Her 



Photograph by Maynard Owen Williams 



AT WORK ON A LARGS CARPET IN AMRITSAR 



Around the tough warp fibers the woolen yarns are tied with 

 various types of knots. They are then beaten close together with a 

 heavy metal comb and the nap is trimmed down to uniform length. 

 A single American firm buys most of the rugs of Amritsar's leading 

 factorv. 



wrist-watch ; but 



eyes laughed, and her vest of soft plum- 

 colored plush reminded me less of a fash- 

 ionable sport costume at Piping Rock 

 than the checker-board vest of her sister 

 siren. 



A GIRDLE OP GARDENS AROUND THIS CITY 

 OP THIRTEEN GATES 



Then up from the street there came a 

 lost and lonely soul, her pock-marked 

 cheeks deep rouged and her sparse hair 

 arranged in grotesque curls plastered to 

 her head. The other women looked down 

 upon her. Even amid such pitiful scenes 



