Kim Rudyard Kipling (web ebook reader .TXT) 📖

be favoured with your Honour’s applause of present step, which recommend your Honour to execute for Almighty God’s sake. Education is greatest blessing if of best sorts. Otherwise no earthly use.’ Faith, the old man’s hit the bull’s-eye that time! ‘If your Honour condescending giving my boy best educations Xavier’ (I suppose that’s St. Xavier’s in Partibus) ‘in terms of our conversation dated in your tent 15th instant’ (a businesslike touch there!) ‘then Almighty God blessing your Honour’s succeedings to third an’ fourth generation and’⁠—now listen!⁠—‘confide in your Honour’s humble servant for adequate remuneration per hoondi per annum three hundred rupees a year to one expensive education St. Xavier, Lucknow, and allow small time to forward same per hoondi sent to any part of India as your Honour shall address yourself. This servant of your Honour has presently no place to lay crown of his head, but going to Benares by train on account of persecution of old woman talking so much and unanxious residing Saharunpore in any domestic capacity.’ Now what in the world does that mean?”

“She has asked him to be her 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 petitioner as in duty bound shall ever awfully pray. Written by Sobrao Satai, Failed Entrance Allahabad University, for Venerable Teshoo Lama the priest of Such-zen looking for a River, address care of Tirthankars’ Temple, Benares. P. M.⁠—Please note boy is apple of eye, and rupees shall be sent per hoondi three hundred per annum. For God Almighty’s sake.’ 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 me them.”

“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 today to the Military Orphanage at Sanawar, where the Regiment would keep you till you were old enough to enlist. Ye’d be brought up to the Church of England. 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 with none to beg for him.

“Like most people, I’m going to temporize. If your friend sends the money from Benares⁠—Powers of Darkness below, where’s a street-beggar to raise three hundred rupees?⁠—ye’ll go down to Lucknow and I’ll pay your fare, because I can’t touch the subscription-money if I intend, as I do, to make ye a Catholic. If he doesn’t, ye’ll go to the Military Orphanage at the Regiment’s expense. I’ll allow him three days’ grace, though I don’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 this world, praise God! An’ they sent Bennett to the Front an’ left me behind. 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 whether Mahbub Ali would send him as much as a whole rupee. Then he could pay the letter-writer and write letters to the lama at Benares. Perhaps Mahbub Ali would visit him next time he came south with horses. Surely he must know that Kim’s delivery of the letter to the officer at Umballa had caused the great war which the men and boys had discussed so loudly over the barrack dinner-tables. But if Mahbub Ali did not know this, it would be very unsafe to tell him so. Mahbub Ali was hard upon boys who knew, or thought they knew, too much.

“Well, till I get further news”⁠—Father Victor’s voice interrupted the reverie⁠—“ye can run along now and play with the other boys. They’ll teach ye something⁠—but I don’t think ye’ll like it.”

The day dragged to its weary end. When he wished to sleep he was instructed how to fold up his clothes and set out his boots; the other boys deriding. Bugles waked him in the dawn; the schoolmaster caught him after breakfast, thrust a page of meaningless characters under his nose, gave them senseless names and whacked him without reason. Kim meditated poisoning him with opium borrowed from a barrack-sweeper, but reflected that, as they all ate at one table in public (this was peculiarly revolting to Kim, who preferred to turn his back on the world at meals), the stroke might be dangerous. Then he attempted running off to the village where the priest had tried to drug the lama⁠—the village where the old soldier lived. But farseeing sentries at every exit headed back the little scarlet figure. Trousers and jacket crippled body and mind alike so he abandoned the project and fell back, Oriental-fashion, on time and chance. Three days of torment passed in the big, echoing white rooms. He walked out of afternoons under escort of the drummer-boy, and all he heard from his companions were the few useless words which seemed to make two-thirds of the white man’s abuse. Kim knew and despised them all long ago. The boy resented his silence and lack of interest by beating him, as was only natural. He did not care for any of the bazaars which were in bounds. He styled all natives “niggers”; yet servants and sweepers called him abominable names to his face, and, misled by their deferential attitude, he never understood. This