Adventure stories; Boys -- Fiction; India -- Fiction; Irish -- India -- Fiction; Lamas -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Spy stories
'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 friend 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
by the Ford, and hear all about you, and I talk here and talk there. All
the common people know what you do. I know 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 up 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 European, 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 guggled 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 every one 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.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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