“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.”