Kim Rudyard Kipling (web ebook reader .TXT) 📖

brought up as a good Catholic. All that troubles me is what’ll happen if the old beggar-man⁠—”

“Lama, lama, my dear sir; and some of them are gentlemen in their own country.”

“The lama, then, fails to pay next year. He’s a fine business head to plan 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 was white he seems to have made his arrangements accordingly. I’d give a month’s pay to hear how he explained it all at the Tirthankars’ Temple at Benares. Look here, Padre, I don’t pretend to know much about natives, but if he says he’ll pay, he’ll pay⁠—dead or alive. I mean, his heirs will assume the debt. My advice to you is, send the boy down to Lucknow. If your Anglican Chaplain thinks you’ve stolen a march on him⁠—”

“Bad luck to Bennett! He was sent to the Front instead o’ me. Doughty certified me medically unfit. I’ll excommunicate Doughty if he comes back alive! Surely Bennett ought to be content with⁠—”

“Glory, leaving you the religion. Quite so! As a matter of fact I don’t think Bennett will mind. Put the blame on me. I⁠—er⁠—strongly recommend sending the boy to St. Xavier’s. He can go down on pass as a soldier’s orphan, so the railway fare will be saved. You can buy him an outfit from the Regimental subscription. The Lodge will be saved the expense of his education, and that will put the Lodge in a good temper. It’s perfectly easy. I’ve got to go down to Lucknow next week. I’ll look after 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 money for a definite end. We can’t very well return it. We shall have to do as he says. Well, that’s settled, isn’t it? Shall we say that, Tuesday next, you’ll hand him over to me at the night train south? That’s only three 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 of hand⁠—“I don’t know Gobind Sahai: or his bank, which may be a hole in a wall.”

“You’ve never been a subaltern in debt. I’ll cash it if you like, and send 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, the thing’s very interesting to me. I’d like to make a note of it for some Government work that I’m doing. The transformation of a regimental badge like your Red Bull into a sort of fetish that the boy follows is very interesting.”

“But I can’t thank you enough.”

“There’s one thing you can do. All we Ethnological men are as jealous as jackdaws of one another’s discoveries. They’re of no interest to anyone but ourselves, of course, but you know what book-collectors are like. Well, don’t say a word, directly or indirectly, about the Asiatic side of the boy’s character⁠—his adventures and his prophecy, and so on. I’ll worm 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 to anyone till I see it in print.”

“Thank you. That goes straight to an ethnologist’s heart. Well, I must be getting back to my breakfast. Good Heavens! Old Mahbub here still?” He raised his voice, and the horse-dealer came out from under the shadow of the tree, “Well, what is it?”

“As regards that young horse,” said Mahbub, “I say that when a colt is born to be a polo-pony, closely following the ball without teaching⁠—when such a colt knows the game by divination⁠—then I say it is a great wrong to break that colt to a heavy cart, Sahib!”

“So say I also, Mahbub. The colt will be entered for polo only. (These fellows think of nothing in the world but horses, Padre.) I’ll see you tomorrow, Mahbub, if you’ve anything likely for sale.”

The dealer saluted, horseman-fashion, with a sweep of the off hand. “Be patient a little, Friend of all the World,” he whispered to the agonized Kim. “Thy fortune is made. In a little while thou goest to Nucklao, and⁠—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 the vernacular. “In three days thou wilt go with me to Lucknow, seeing and hearing new things all the while. Therefore sit still for three days and do 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 wilt go under my protection. Mahbub Ali knows this, and he will be angry if thou returnest to the Road now. Remember⁠—much has been told me which I do not forget.”

“I will wait,” said Kim, “but the boys will beat me.”

Then the bugles blew for dinner.

VII

Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?
Creep thou between⁠—thy coming’s all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars.
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray
(By Adam’s fathers’ own sin bound alway);
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say
Which planet mends thy threadbare fate or mars!

Sir John Christie

In the afternoon the red-faced schoolmaster told Kim that he had been “struck off the strength,” which conveyed no meaning to him till he was ordered to go away and play. Then he ran to the bazaar, and found the young letter-writer to whom he owed a stamp.

“Now I pay,” said Kim royally, “and now I need another letter to be written.”

“Mahbub Ali is