Fakir

Tom is a fakir.

A fallen fakir is in the mosque.

The fakir sat on a bed of nails.

The fakir lied down on a bed of nails.

The preposterous altruism too![…]Resist not evil. It is an insane immolation of self—as bad intrinsically as fakirs stabbing themselves or anchorites warping their spines in caves scarcely large enough for a fair-sized dog.

He denounces no one until he has all the damaging facts in hand, very frequently backed up with affidavits. He 'Lawsonized' certain stock jobbers and financial fakirs of London before the Boston advertising man was heard of.

"But a stranger who had come up to the group just at this point, when they were pronouncing the soup delicious, laughed aloud. "'What a set of fools you all are!' he cried. 'This tramp is just a fakir. That stone had nothing to do with the soup."

He was, as the undercover agent concluded, a fabulous raconteur or, as one other person summed him up, "a monumental fakir and liar."

From what I hear of him he's a fakir, and I won't encourage him in his attempts to get into society at my expense.