CHAPTER VI
Now I remember comrades-- Old playmates on new seas-- Whenas we traded orpiment Among the savages. Ten thousand leagues to southward, And thirty years removed-- They knew not noble Valdez, But me they knew and loved. 'Song of Diego Valdez.'
VERY early in the morning the white tents came down and disappeared asthe Mavericks took a side road to Umballa. It did not skirt theresting-place, and Kim, trudging beside a baggage-cart under fire ofcomments from soldiers' wives, was not so confident as over-night. Hediscovered that he was closely watched--Father Victor on the one side,and Mr. Bennett on the other.
In the forenoon the column checked. A camel-orderly handed the Colonel aletter. He read it, and spoke to a major. Half a mile in the rear, Kimheard a hoarse and joyful clamour rolling down on him through the thickdust. Then some one beat him on the back, crying: 'Tell us how ye knew,ye little limb of Satan? Father dear, see if ye can make him tell.'
A pony ranged alongside, and he was hauled on to the priest'ssaddle-bow.
'Now, my son, your prophecy of last night has come true. Our orders areto entrain at Umballa for the front to-morrow.'
'What is thatt?' said Kim, for 'front' and 'entrain' were newish wordsto him.
'We are going to "thee war," as you called it.'
'Of course you are going to thee war. I said last night.'
'Ye did; but, Powers o' Darkness, how did ye know?'
Kim's eyes sparkled. He shut his lips, nodded his head, and lookedunspeakable things. The chaplain moved on through the dust, andprivates, sergeants, and subalterns called one another's attention tothe boy. The Colonel, at the head of the column, stared at himcuriously. 'It was probably some bazar rumour,' he said; 'but eventhen--' He referred to the paper in his hand. 'Hang it all, the thingwas only decided within the last forty-eight hours.'
'Are there many more like you in India?' said Father Victor, 'or are youby way o' being a lusus naturae?'
'Now I have told you,' said the boy, 'will you let me go back to my oldman? If he has not stayed with that woman from Kulu, I am afraid he willdie.'
'By what I saw of him he's as well able to take care of himself as you.No. Ye've brought us luck, an' we're goin' to make a man of you. I'lltake ye back to your baggage-cart and ye'll come to me this evening.'
For the rest of the day Kim found himself an object of distinguishedconsideration among a few hundred white men. The story of his appearancein camp, the discovery of his parentage, and his prophecy, had lostnothing in the telling. A big, shapeless white woman on a pile ofbedding asked him mysteriously whether he thought her husband would comeback from the war. Kim reflected gravely, and said that he would, andthe woman gave him food. In many respects, this big procession thatplayed music at intervals--this crowd that talked and laughed soeasily--resembled a festival in Lahore city. So far, there was no signof hard work, and he resolved to lend the spectacle his patronage. Atevening there came out to meet them bands of music, and played theMavericks into camp near Umballa railway station. That was aninteresting night. Men of other regiments came to visit the Mavericks.The Mavericks went visiting on their own account. Their pickets hurriedforth to bring them back, met pickets of strange regiments on the sameduty; and, after a while, the bugles blew madly for more pickets withofficers to control the tumult. The Mavericks had a reputation forliveliness to live up to. But they fell in on the platform next morningin perfect shape and condition; and Kim, left behind with the sick,women, and boys, found himself shouting farewells excitedly as thetrains drew away. Life as a Sahib was amusing so far; but he touched itwith a cautious hand. Then they marched him back in charge of adrummer-boy to empty, lime-washed barracks, whose floors were coveredwith rubbish and string and paper, and whose ceilings gave back hislonely footfall. Native fashion, he curled himself up on a stripped cotand went to sleep. An angry man stumped down the veranda, woke him up,and said he was a schoolmaster. This was enough for Kim, and he retiredinto his shell. He could just puzzle out the various English Policenotices in Lahore city, because they affected his comfort; and among themany guests of the woman who looked after him had been a queer Germanwho painted scenery for the Parsee travelling theatre. He told Kim thathe had been 'on the barricades in Forty-eight,' and therefore--at leastthat was how it struck Kim--he would teach the boy to write in returnfor food. Kim had been kicked as far as single letters, but did notthink well of them.
'I do not know anything. Go away!' said Kim, scenting evil. Hereupon theman caught him by the ear, dragged him to a room in a far-off wing wherea dozen drummer-boys were sitting on forms, and told him to be still ifhe could do nothing else. This he managed very successfully. The manexplained something or other with white lines on a black board for atleast half an hour, and Kim continued his interrupted nap. He muchdisapproved of the present aspect of affairs, for this was the veryschool and discipline he had spent two-thirds of his young life inavoiding. Suddenly a beautiful idea occurred to him, and he wonderedthat he had not thought of it before.
The man dismissed them, and first to spring through the veranda into theopen sunshine was Kim.
''Ere you! 'Alt! Stop!' said a high voice at his heels. 'I've got tolook after you. My orders are not to let you out of my sight. Where areyou goin'?'
It was the drummer-boy who had been hanging round him all theforenoon--a fat and freckled person of about fourteen, and Kim loathedhim from the soles of his boots to his cap-ribbons.
'To the bazar--to get sweets--for you,' said Kim, after thought.
'Well, the bazar's out o' bounds. If we go there we'll get adressing-down. You come back.'
'How near can we go?' Kim did not know what bounds meant, but he wishedto be polite--for the present.
''Ow near? 'Ow far, you mean? We can go as far as that tree down theroad.'
'Then I will go there.'
'All right. I ain't goin'. It's too 'ot. I can watch you from 'ere. It'sno good runnin' away. If you did, they'd spot you by your clothes.That's regimental stuff you're wearin'. There ain't a picket in Umballawouldn't 'ead you back quicker than you started out.'
This did not impress Kim as much as the knowledge that his raiment wouldtire him out if he tried to run. He slouched to the tree at the cornerof a bare road leading towards the bazar, and eyed the natives passing.Most of them were barrack-servants of the lowest caste. Kim hailed asweeper, who promptly retorted with a piece of unnecessary insolence, inthe natural belief that the European boy could not follow. The low,quick answer undeceived him. Kim put his fettered soul into it, thankfulfor the late chance to abuse somebody in the tongue he knew best. 'Andnow, go to the nearest letter-writer in the bazar and tell him to comehere. I would write a letter.'
'But--but what manner of white man's son art thou, to need a bazarletter-writer? Is there not a schoolmaster in the barracks?'
'Ay; and Hell is full of the same sort. Do my order, you--you Od! Thymother was married under a basket! Servant of Lal Beg' (Kim knew the godof the sweepers), 'run on my business or we will talk again.'
The sweeper shuffled off in haste. 'There is a white boy by the barrackswaiting under a tree who is not a white boy,' he stammered to the firstbazar letter-writer he came across. 'He needs thee.'
'Will he pay?' said that spruce scribe, gathering up his desk and pensand sealing-wax all in order.
'I do not know. He is not like other boys. Go and see. It is wellworth.'
Kim danced with impatience when the slim young Kayeth hove in sight. Assoon as his voice could carry he cursed him volubly.
'First I will take my pay,' the letter-writer said. 'Bad words have madethe price higher. But who art thou, dressed in that fashion, to speak inthis fashion?'
'Aha! That is in the letter which thou shalt write. Never was such atale. But I am in no haste. Another writer will serve me. Umballa cityis as full of them as is Lahore.'
'Four annas,' said the writer, sitting down
and spreading his cloth inthe shade of a deserted barrack-wing.
Mechanically Kim squatted beside him,--squatted as only the nativescan,--in spite of the abominable clinging trousers.
The writer regarded him sideways.
'That is the price to ask of Sahibs,' said Kim. 'Now fix me a true one.'
'An anna and a half. How do I know, having written the letter, that thouwilt not run away?'
'I must not go beyond this tree, and there is also the stamp to beconsidered.'
'I get no commission on the price of the stamp. Once more, what mannerof white boy art thou?'
'That shall be said in the letter, which is to Mahbub Ali, thehorse-dealer in the Kashmir Serai, at Lahore. He is my friend.'
'Wonder on wonder!' murmured the letter-writer, dipping a reed in theinkstand. 'To be written in Hindi?'
'Assuredly. To Mahbub Ali then. Begin! "I have come down with the oldman as far as Umballa in the train. At Umballa I carried the news of thebay mare's pedigree."' After what he had seen in the garden, he was notgoing to write of white stallions.
'Slower a little. What has a bay mare to do. . . . Is it Mahbub Ali thegreat dealer?'
'Who else? I have been in his service. Take more ink. Again. "As theorder was, so I did it. We then went on foot towards Benares, but on thethird day we found a certain regiment." Is that down?'
'Ay, "pulton,"' murmured the writer, all ears.
'"I went into their camp and was caught, and by means of the charm aboutmy neck, which thou knowest, it was established that I was the son ofsome man in the regiment: according to the prophecy of the Red Bull,which thou knowest was common talk of our bazar."' Kim waited for thisshaft to sink into the letter-writer's heart, cleared his throat, andcontinued: '"A priest clothed me and gave me a new name . . . One priest,however, was a fool. The clothes are very heavy, but I am a Sahib and myheart is heavy too. They send me to a school and beat me. I do not likethe air and water here. Come then and help me, Mahbub Ali, or send mesome money, for I have not sufficient to pay the writer who writesthis."'
'"Who writes this." It is my own fault that I was tricked. Thou art asclever as Husain Bux that forged the Treasury stamps at Nucklao. Butwhat a tale! What a tale! Is it true by any chance?'
'First I will take my pay,' the letter-writer said.]
'It does not profit to tell lies to Mahbub Ali. It is better to help hisfriends by lending them a stamp. When the money comes I will repay.'
The writer grunted doubtfully, but took a stamp out of his desk, sealedthe letter, handed it over to Kim, and departed. Mahbub Ali's was a nameof power in Umballa.
'That is the way to win a good account with the Gods,' Kim shouted afterhim.
'Pay me twice over when the money comes,' the man cried over hisshoulder.
'What was you bukkin' to that nigger about?' said the drummer-boy whenKim returned to the veranda. 'I was watchin' you.'
'I was only talkin' to him.'
'You talk the same as a nigger, don't you?'
'No-ah! No-ah! I onlee speak a little. What shall we do now?'
'The bugles 'ill go for dinner in arf a minute. My Gawd! I wish I'd goneup to the front with the regiment. It's awful doin' nothin' but schooldown 'ere. Don't you 'ate it?'
'Oah yess!'
'I'd run away if I knew where to go to, but, as the men say, in thisbloomin' Injia you're only a prisoner at large. You can't desert withoutbein' took back at once. I'm fair sick of it.'
'You have been in Be--England?'
'W'y, I only come out last troopin' season with my mother. I shouldthink I 'ave been in England. What a ignorant little beggar you are. Youwas brought up in the gutter, wasn't you?'
'Oah yess. Tell me something about England. My father he came fromthere.'
Though he would not say so, Kim of course disbelieved every word thedrummer-boy spoke about the Liverpool suburb which was his England. Itpassed the heavy time till dinner--a most unappetising meal served tothe boys and a few invalids in a corner of a barrack-room. But that hehad written to Mahbub Ali, Kim would have been almost depressed. Theindifference of native crowds he was used to; but this strong lonelinessamong white men preyed on him. He was grateful when, in the course ofthe afternoon, a big soldier took him over to Father Victor, who livedin another wing across another dusty parade-ground. The priest wasreading an English letter written in purple ink. He looked at Kim morecuriously than ever.
'An' how do you like it, my son, as far as you've gone? Not much, eh? Itmust be hard--very hard on a wild animal. Listen now. I've an amazin'epistle from your friend.'
'Where is he? Is he well? Oah! If he knows to write me letters, it isall right.'
'You're fond of him then?'
'Of course I am fond of him. He was fond of me.'
'It seems so by the look of this. He can't write English, can he?'
'Oah no. Not that I know, but of course he found a letter-writer who canwrite English verree well, and so he wrote. I do hope you understand.'
'That accounts for it. D'you know anything about his money affairs?'Kim's face showed that he did not.
'How can I tell?'
'That's what I'm askin'. Now listen if you can make head or tail o'this. We'll skip the first part. . . . It's written from JagadhirRoad. . . . "Sitting on wayside in grave meditation, trusting to befavoured with your Honour's applause of present step, which recommendyour Honour to execute for Almighty God's sake. Education is greatestblessing if of best sorts. Otherwise no earthly use." Faith, the oldman's hit the bull's-eye that time! "If your Honour condescending givingmy boy best educations Xavier" (I suppose that's St. Xavier in Partibus)"in terms of our conversation dated in your tent 15th instant" (abusiness-like touch there!) "then Almighty God blessing your Honour'ssucceedings to third an' fourth generation and"--now listen!--"confidein your Honour's humble servant for adequat remuneration per hoondie perannum three hundred rupees a year to one expensive education St. Xavier,Lucknow, and allow small time to forward same per hoondie sent to anypart of India as your Honour shall address yourself. This servant ofyour Honour has presently no place to lay crown of his head, but goingto Benares by train on account of persecution of old woman talking somuch and unanxious residing Saharunpore in any domestic capacity." Nowwhat in the world does that mean?'
'She has asked him to be puro--her clergyman--at Saharunpore, I think.He would not do that on account of his River. She did talk.'
'It's clear to you, is it? It beats me altogether. "So going to Benares,where will find address and forward rupees for boy who is apple of eye,and for Almighty God's sake execute this education, and your petitioneras in duty bound shall ever awfully pray. Written by Sobrao Satai,Failed Entrance Allahabad University, for Venerable Teshoo Lama thepriest of Suchzen looking for a River, address care of Tirthankers'Temple, Benares. P. M.--Please note boy is apple of eye, and rupeesshall be sent per hoondie three hundred per annum. For God Almighty'ssake." Now, is that ravin' lunacy or a business proposition? I ask you,because I'm fairly at my wits' end.'
'He says he will give me three hundred rupees a year, so he will give methem.'
'Oh, that's the way you look at it, is it?'
'Of course. If he says so!'
The priest whistled; then he addressed Kim as an equal.
'I don't believe it; but we'll see. You were goin' off to-day to theMilitary Orphanage at Sanawar, where the regiment would keep you tillyou were old enough to enlist. Ye'd be brought up to the Church ofEngland. Bennett arranged for that. On the other hand, if ye go to St.Xavier's ye'll get a better education an'--an' can have the religion.D'ye see my dilemma?'
Kim saw nothing save a vision of the lama going south in a train withnone to beg for him.
'Like most people, I'm going to temporise. If your friend sends themoney from Benares--Powers of Darkness below, where's a street-beggar toraise three hundred rupees?--ye'll go down to Lucknow and I'll pay yourfare, because I can't touch the subscription-money if I intend, as I do,to make ye a Catholic. I
f he doesn't, ye'll go to the Military Orphanageat the regiment's expense. I'll allow him three days' grace, though Idon't believe it at all. Even then, if he fails in his payments later on. . . but it's beyond me. We can only walk one step at a time in thisworld, praise God! An' they sent Bennett to the front an' left mebehind. Bennett can't expect everything.'
'Oah yess,' said Kim vaguely.
The priest leaned forward. 'I'd give a month's pay to find what's goin'on inside that little round head of yours.'
'There is nothing,' said Kim, and scratched it. He was wondering whetherMahbub Ali would send him as much as a whole rupee. Then he could paythe letter-writer and write letters to the lama at Benares. PerhapsMahbub Ali would visit him next time he came south with horses. Surelyhe must know that Kim's delivery of the letter to the officer at Umballahad caused the great war which the men and boys had discussed so loudlyover the barrack dinner-tables. But if Mahbub Ali did not know this, itwould be very unsafe to tell him so. Mahbub Ali was hard upon boys whoknew, or thought they knew, too much.
'Well, till I get further news'--Father Victor's voice interrupted thereverie--'ye can run along and play with the other boys. They'll teachye something--but I don't think ye'll like it.'
The day dragged to its weary end. When he wished to sleep he wasinstructed how to fold up his clothes and set out his boots; the otherboys deriding. Bugles waked him in the dawn; the schoolmaster caught himafter breakfast, thrust a page of meaningless characters under his nose,gave them senseless names, and whacked him without reason. Kim meditatedpoisoning him with opium borrowed from a barrack-sweeper, but reflectedthat, as they all ate at one table in public (this was peculiarlyrevolting to Kim, who preferred to turn his back on the world at hismeals), the stroke might be dangerous. Then he attempted running off tothe village where the priest had tried to drug the lama--the villagewhere the old soldier lived. But far-seeing sentries at every exitheaded back the little scarlet figure. Trousers and jacket crippled bodyand mind alike, so he abandoned the project and fell back, Orientalfashion, on time and chance. Three days of torment passed in the big,echoing white rooms. He walked out of afternoons under escort of thedrummer-boy, and all he heard from his companion were the few uselesswords which seemed to make two-thirds of the white man's abuse. Kim knewand despised them all long ago. The boy resented his silence and lack ofinterest by beating him, as was only natural. He did not care for any ofthe bazars which were in bounds. He styled all natives 'niggers'; yetservants and sweepers called him abominable names to his face, and,misled by their deferential attitude, he never understood. This somewhatconsoled Kim for the beatings.
On the morning of the fourth day a judgment overtook that drummer. Theyhad gone out together towards Umballa race-course. He returned alone,weeping, with news that young O'Hara, to whom he had been doing nothingin particular, had hailed a scarlet-bearded nigger on horseback; thatthe nigger had then and there laid into him with a peculiarly adhesivequirt, picked up young O'Hara, and borne him off at full gallop. Thesetidings came to Father Victor, and he drew down his long upper lip. Hewas already sufficiently startled by a letter from the Temple of theTirthankers at Benares, enclosing a native banker's note of hand forthree hundred rupees, and an amazing prayer to 'Almighty God.' The lamawould have been more annoyed than the priest had he known how the bazarletter-writer had translated his phrase 'to acquire merit.'
'Powers of Darkness below!' Father Victor fumbled with the note. 'An'now he's off with another of his peep-o'-day friends. I don't knowwhether it will be a greater relief to me to get him back or to have himlost. He's beyond my comprehension. How the Divil--yes, He's the man Imean--can a street-beggar raise money to educate white boys?'
Three miles off, on Umballa race-course, Mahbub Ali, reining a grayCabuli stallion with Kim in front of him, was saying:
'But, Little Friend of all the World, there is my honour and reputationto be considered. All the officer-sahibs in all the regiments, and allUmballa, know Mahbub Ali. Men saw me pick thee up and chastise that boy.We are seen now from far across this plain. How can I take thee away, oraccount for thy disappearing if I set thee down and let thee run offinto the crops? They would put me in jail. Be patient. Once a Sahib,always a Sahib. When thou art a man--who knows--thou wilt be grateful toMahbub Ali.'
'Take me beyond their sentries where I can change this red. Give memoney and I will go to Benares and be with my lama again. I do not wantto be a Sahib, and remember I did deliver that message.'
The stallion bounded wildly. Mahbub Ali had incautiously driven home thesharp-edged stirrup. (He was not the new sort of fluent horse-dealer whowears English boots and spurs.) Kim drew his own conclusions from thatbetrayal.
'That was a small matter. It lay on the straight road to Benares. I andthe Sahib have by this time forgotten it. I send so many letters andmessages to men who ask questions about horses, I cannot well rememberone from the other. Was it some matter of a bay mare that Peters Sahibwished the pedigree of?'
Kim saw the trap at once. If he had said 'bay mare' Mahbub would haveknown by his very readiness to fall in with the amendment that the boysuspected something. Kim replied therefore:
'Bay mare? No. I do not forget my messages thus. It was a whitestallion.'
'Ay, so it was. A white Arab stallion. But thou didst write bay mare tome.'
'Who cares to tell truth to a letter-writer?' Kim answered, feelingMahbub's palm on his heart.
'Hi! Mahbub, you old villain, pull up!' cried a voice, and an Englishmanraced alongside on a little polo-pony. 'I've been chasing you half overthe country. That Cabuli of yours can go. For sale, I suppose?'
'I have some young stuff coming on made by Heaven for the delicate anddifficult polo-game. He has no equal. He--'
'Plays polo and waits at table. Yes. We know all that. What the deucehave you got there?'
'A boy,' said Mahbub gravely. 'He was being beaten by another boy. Hisfather was once a white soldier in the big war. The boy was a child inLahore city. He played with my horses when he was a babe. Now I thinkthey will make him a soldier. He has been newly caught by his father'sregiment that went up to the war last week. But I do not think he wantsto be a soldier. I take him for a ride. Tell me where thy barracks areand I will set thee there.'
'Let me go. I can find the barracks alone.'
'And if thou runnest away who will say it is not my fault?'
'He'll run back to his dinner. Where has he to run to?' the Englishmanasked.
'He was born in the land. He has friends. He goes where he chooses. Heis a chabuk sawai (a sharp chap). It needs only to change his clothing,and in a twinkling he would be a low-caste Hindi boy.'
'The deuce he would!' The Englishman looked critically at the boy asMahbub headed towards the barracks. Kim ground his teeth. Mahbub wasmocking him, as faithless Afghans will; for he went on:
'They will send him to a school and put heavy boots on his feet andswaddle him in these clothes. Then he will forget all he knows. Nowwhich of the barracks is thine?'
Kim pointed--he could not speak--to Father Victor's wing, all staringwhite near by.
'Perhaps he will make a good soldier,' said Mahbub reflectively. 'Hewill make a good orderly at least. I sent him to deliver a message oncefrom Lahore. A message concerning the pedigree of a white stallion.'
Here was deadly insult on deadlier injury--and the Sahib to whom he hadso craftily given that war-making letter heard it all. Kim beheld MahbubAli frying in flame for his treachery, but for himself he saw one longgray vista of barracks, schools, and barracks again. He gazedimploringly at the clear-cut face in which there was no glimmer ofrecognition; but even at this extremity it never occurred to him tothrow himself on the white man's mercy or to denounce the Afghan. AndMahbub stared deliberately at the Englishman, who stared as deliberatelyat Kim, quivering and tongue-tied.
'My horse is well trained,' said the dealer. 'Others would have kicked,Sahib.'
'Ah,' said the Englishman at last, rubbing his pony's damp w
ithers withhis whip-butt. 'Who makes the boy a soldier?'
'He says the regiment that found him, and especially the padre-sahib ofthat regiment.'
'There is the padre!' Kim choked as bare-headed Father Victor saileddown upon them from the veranda.
'Powers o' Darkness below, O'Hara! How many more mixed friends do youkeep in Asia?' he cried, as Kim slid down and stood helplessly beforehim.
'Good morning, Padre,' the Colonel said cheerily. 'I know you byreputation well enough. Meant to have come over and called before this.I'm Creighton.'
'Of the Ethnological Survey?' said Father Victor. The Colonel nodded.'Faith I'm glad to meet ye then; an' I owe you some thanks for bringingback the boy.'
'No thanks to me, Padre. Besides, the boy wasn't going away. You don'tknow old Mahbub Ali'--the horse-dealer sat impassive in the sunlight.'You will when you have been in the station a month. He sells us all ourcrocks. That boy is rather a curiosity. Can you tell me anything abouthim?'
'Can I tell you?' puffed Father Victor. 'You'll be the one man thatcould help me in my quandaries. Tell you! Powers o' Darkness, I'mbursting to tell some one who knows something o' the native!'
A groom came round the corner. Colonel Creighton raised his voice,speaking in Urdu. 'Very good, Mahbub Ali, but what is the use of tellingme all those stories about the pony. Not one pie more than three hundredand fifty rupees will I give.'
'The Sahib is a little hot and angry after riding,' the horse-dealerreturned, with the leer of a privileged jester. 'Presently, he will seemy horse's points more clearly. I will wait till he has finished histalk with the padre. I will wait under that tree.'
'Confound you!' The Colonel laughed. 'That comes of looking at one ofMahbub's horses. He's a regular old leech, Padre. Wait then, if thouhast so much time to spare, Mahbub. Now I'm at your service, Padre.Where is the boy? Oh, he's gone off to collogue with Mahbub. Queer sortof boy. Might I ask you to send my mare round under cover?'
He dropped into a chair which commanded a clear view of Kim and MahbubAli in conference beneath the tree. The padre went indoors for cheroots.
Creighton heard Kim say bitterly: 'Trust a Brahmin before a snake, and asnake before a harlot, and a harlot before an Afghan, Mahbub Ali.'
'That is all one,' the great red beard wagged solemnly. 'Children shouldnot see a carpet on the loom till the pattern is made plain. Believe me,Friend of all the World, I do thee great service. They will not make asoldier of thee.'
'You crafty old sinner,' thought Creighton. 'But you're not far wrong.That boy mustn't be wasted if he is as advertised.'
'Excuse me half a minute,' cried the padre from within, 'but I'm gettin'the documents of the case.'
'If through me the favour of this bold and wise Colonel Sahib comes tothee, and thou art raised to honour, what thanks wilt thou give MahbubAli when thou art a man?'
'Nay, nay; I begged thee to let me take the road again, where I shouldhave been safe; and thou hast sold me back to the English. What willthey give thee for blood-money?'
'A cheerful young demon!' The Colonel bit his cigar, and turned politelyto Father Victor.
'What are the letters that the fat priest is waving before the Colonel?Stand behind the stallion as though looking at my bridle!' said MahbubAli.
'A letter from my lama which he wrote from Jagadhir Road, saying that hewill pay three hundred rupees by the year for my schooling.'
'Oho! Is old Red Hat of that sort? At which school?'
'God knows. I think in Nucklao.'
'Yes. There is a big school there for the sons of Sahibs--andhalf-Sahibs. I have seen it when I sell horses there. So the lama alsoloved the Friend of all the World?'
'Ay; and he did not tell lies, or return me to captivity.'
'Small wonder the padre does not know how to unravel the thread. Howfast he talks to the Colonel Sahib.' Mahbub Ali chuckled. 'ByAllah!'--the keen eyes swept the veranda for an instant--'thy lama hassent what to me looks like a note of hand. I have had some smalldealings in hoondies. The Colonel Sahib is looking at it.'
'What good is all this to me?' said Kim wearily. 'Thou wilt go away, andthey will return me to those empty rooms where there is no good place tosleep and where the boys beat me.'
'I do not think that. Have patience, child. All Pathans are notfaithless--except in horseflesh.'
Five--ten--fifteen minutes passed, Father Victor talking energeticallyor asking questions which the Colonel answered.
'Now I've told you everything that I know about the boy from beginnin'to end; and it's a blessed relief to me. Did ye ever hear the like?'
'At any rate, the old man has sent the money. Gobind Sahai's notes ofhand are good from here to China,' said the Colonel. 'The more one knowsabout natives the less can one say what they will or won't do.'
'That's consolin'--from the head of the Ethnological Survey. It's thismixture of Red Bulls and Rivers of Healing (poor heathen, God help him!)an' notes of hand and Masonic certificates. Are you a Mason, by anychance?'
'By Jove, I am, now I come to think of it. That's an additional reason,'said the Colonel absently.
'I'm glad ye see a reason in it. But as I said, it's the mixture o'things that's beyond me. An' his prophesyin' to our Colonel sitting onmy bed with his little shimmy torn open showing his white skin; an' theprophecy comin' true! They'll cure all that nonsense at St. Xavier's,eh?'
'Sprinkle him with holy water,' the Colonel laughed.
'On my word, I fancy I ought to sometimes. But I'm hoping he'll bebrought up as a good Catholic. All that troubles me is what'll happen ifthe old beggarman--'
'Lama, lama, my dear sir; and some of them are gentlemen in their owncountry.'
'The lama, then, fails to pay next year. He's a fine business head toplan on the spur of the moment, but he's bound to die some day. An'takin' a heathen's money to give a child a Christian education--'
'But he said explicitly what he wanted. As soon as he knew the boy waswhite he seems to have made his arrangements accordingly. I'd give amonth's pay to hear how he explained it all at the Tirthankers' Templeat Benares. Look here, Padre, I don't pretend to know much aboutnatives, but if he says he'll pay, he'll pay--dead or alive. I mean hisheirs will assume the debt. My advice to you is, send the boy down toLucknow. If your Anglican chaplain thinks you've stolen a march onhim--'
'Bad luck to Bennett! He was sent to the front instead o' me. Doughtycertified me medically unfit. I'll excommunicate Doughty if he comesback alive! Surely Bennett ought to be content with--'
'Glory, leaving you the religion. Quite so! As a matter of fact I don'tthink Bennett will mind. Put the blame on me. I--er--strongly recommendsending the boy to St. Xavier's. He can go down on pass as a soldier'sorphan, so the railway fare will be saved. You can buy him an outfitfrom the regimental subscription. The Lodge will be saved the expense ofhis education, and that will put the Lodge in a good temper. It'sperfectly easy. I've got to go down to Lucknow next week. I'll lookafter the boy on the way--give him in charge of my servants, and so on.'
'You're a good man.'
'Not in the least. Don't make that mistake. The lama has sent us moneyfor a definite end. We can't very well return it. We shall have to do ashe says. Well, that's settled, isn't it? Shall we say that, Tuesdaynext, you'll hand him over to me at the night train south? That's onlythree days. He can't do much harm in three days.'
'It's a weight off my mind, but--this thing here?'--he waved the note ofhand--'I don't know Gobind Sahai: or his bank, which may be a hole in awall.'
'You've never been a subaltern in debt. I'll cash it if you like, andsend you the vouchers in proper order.'
'But with all your own work too! It's askin'--'
'It's not the least trouble indeed. You see, as an ethnologist, thething's very interesting to me. I'd like to make a note of it for someGovernment work that I'm doing. The transformation of a regimental badgelike your Red Bull into a sort of fetish that the boy follows is veryinteresting.'
'But I ca
n't thank you enough.'
'There's one thing you can do. All we Ethnological men are as jealous asjackdaws of one another's discoveries. They're of no interest to any onebut ourselves, of course, but you know what book-collectors are like.Well, don't say a word, directly or indirectly, about the Asiatic sideof the boy's character--his adventures and his prophecy, and so on. I'llworm them out of the boy later on and--you see?'
'I do. Ye'll make a wonderful account of it. Never a word will I say toany one till I see it in print.'
'Thank you. That goes straight to an ethnologist's heart. Well, I mustbe getting back to my breakfast. Good heavens! Old Mahbub here still?'He raised his voice, and the horse-dealer came out from under the shadowof the tree. 'Well, what is it?'
'As regards that young horse,' said Mahbub, 'I say that when a colt isborn to be a polo-pony, closely following the ball withoutteaching--when such a colt knows the game by divination--then I say itis a great wrong to break that colt to a heavy cart, Sahib!'
'So do I say also, Mahbub. The colt will be entered for polo only.(These fellows think of nothing in the world but horses, Padre.) I'llsee you to-morrow, Mahbub, if you've anything likely for sale.'
The dealer saluted, horseman fashion, with a sweep of the off hand. 'Bepatient a little, Friend of all the World,' he whispered to the agonisedKim. 'Thy fortune is made. In a little while thou goest to Nucklaoand--here is something to pay the letter-writer. I shall see thee again,I think, many times,' and he cantered off down the road.
'Listen to me,' said the Colonel from the veranda, speaking in thevernacular. 'In three days thou wilt go with me to Lucknow, seeing andhearing new things all the while. Therefore sit still for three days anddo not run away. Thou wilt go to school at Lucknow.'
'Shall I meet my Holy One there?' Kim whimpered.
'At least Lucknow is nearer to Benares than Umballa. It may be thou wiltgo under my protection. Mahbub Ali knows this, and he will be angry ifthou returnest to the road now. Remember--much has been told to me whichI do not forget.'
'I will wait,' said Kim, 'but the boys will beat me.'
Then the bugles blew for dinner.
'. . . Pathans are not faithless--except inhorse-flesh.']