He dropped into a chair which commanded a clear view of Kim and Mahbub Ali in conference beneath the tree. The Padre went indoors for cheroots.
Creighton heard Kim say bitterly: “Trust a Brahmin before a snake, and a snake before an harlot, and an harlot before an Afghan, Mahbub Ali.”
“That is all one.” The great red beard wagged solemnly. “Children should not see a carpet on the loom till the pattern is made plain. Believe me, Friend of all the World, I do thee great service. They will not make a soldier of thee.”
“You crafty old sinner!” thought Creighton. “But you’re not far wrong. That boy mustn’t be wasted if he is as advertised.”
“Excuse me half a minute,” cried the Padre from within, “but I’m gettin’ the documents in the case.”
“If through me the favour of this bold and wise Colonel Sahib comes to thee, and thou art raised to honour, what thanks wilt thou give Mahbub Ali when thou art a man?”
“Nay, nay! I begged thee to let me take the Road again, where I should have been safe; and thou hast sold me back to the English. What will they give thee for blood-money?”
“A cheerful young demon!” The Colonel bit his cigar, and turned politely to Father Victor.
“What are the letters that the fat priest is waving before the Colonel? Stand behind the stallion as though looking at my bridle!” said Mahbub Ali.
“A letter from my lama which he wrote from Jagadhir Road, saying that he will pay three hundred rupees by the year for my schooling.”