“Oah, it is nothing. Onlee I was at Simla when the wire came in about what our mutual friend said he had hidden, and old Creighton—” He looked to see how Kim would take this piece of audacity. “The Colonel Sahib,” the boy from St Xavier’s corrected. “_Of_ course. He found me at a loose string, and I had to go down to Chitor to find that beastly letter. I do not like the South—too much railway travel; but I drew good travelling allowance. Ha! Ha! I meet our mutual at Delhi on the way back. He lies quiett just now, and says Saddhu-disguise suits him to the ground. Well, there I hear what you have done so well, so quickly, upon the instantaneous spur of the moment. I tell our mutual you take the bally bun, by Jove! It was splendid. I come to tell you so.” “Umm!” The frogs were busy in the ditches, and the moon slid to her setting. Some happy servant had gone out to commune with the night and to beat upon a drum. Kim’s next sentence was in the vernacular. “How didst thou follow us?” “Oah. Thatt was nothing. I know from our mutual friend you go to Saharunpore. So I come on. Red Lamas are not inconspicuous persons. I buy myself my drug-box, and I am very good doctor really. I go to Akrola of the Ford, and hear all about you, and I talk here and talk there. All the common people know what you do. I knew when the hospitable old lady sent the _dooli_. They have great recollections of the old lama’s visits here. I know old ladies cannot keep their hands from medicines. So I am a doctor, and—you hear my talk? _I_ think it is verree good. My word, Mister O’Hara, they know about you and the lama for fifty miles—the common people. So I come. Do you mind?” “Babuji,” said Kim, looking up at the broad, grinning face, “I am a Sahib.” “My dear Mister O’Hara—” “And I hope to play the Great Game.” “You are subordinate to me departmentally at present.” “Then why talk like an ape in a tree? Men do not come after one from Simla and change their dress, for the sake of a few sweet words. I am not a child. Talk Hindi and let us get to the yolk of the egg. Thou art here—speaking not one word of truth in ten. Why art thou here? Give a straight answer.” “That is so verree disconcerting of the Europeans, Mister O’Hara. _You_ should know a heap better at your time of life.” “But I want to know,” said Kim, laughing. “If it is the Game, I may help. How can I do anything if you _bukh_ (babble) all round the shop?” Hurree Babu reached for the pipe, and sucked it till it gurgled again. “Now I will speak vernacular. You sit tight, Mister O’Hara ... It concerns the pedigree of a white stallion.” “Still? That was finished long ago.” “When everyone is dead the Great Game is finished. Not before. Listen to me till the end. There were Five Kings who prepared a sudden war three years ago, when thou wast given the stallion’s pedigree by Mahbub Ali. Upon them, because of that news, and ere they were ready, fell our Army.”