“The Colonel is the servant of the Government. He is sent hither and yon at a word, and must consider his own advancement. (See how much I have already learned at Nucklao!) Moreover, the Colonel I know since three months only. I have known one Mahbub Ali for six years. So! To the madrissah I will go. At the madrissah I will learn. In the madrissah I will be a Sahib. But when the madrissah is shut, then must I be free and go among my people. Otherwise I die!”
“And who are thy people, Friend of all the World?”
“This great and beautiful land,” said Kim, waving his paw round the little clay-walled room where the oil-lamp in its niche burned heavily through the tobacco-smoke. “And, further, I would see my lama again. And, further, I need money.”
“That is the need of everyone,” said Mahbub ruefully. “I will give thee eight annas, for much money is not picked out of horses’ hooves, and it must suffice for many days. As to all the rest, I am well pleased, and no further talk is needed. Make haste to learn, and in three years, or it may be less, thou wilt be an aid—even to me.”
“Have I been such a hindrance till now?” said Kim, with a boy’s giggle.
“Do not give answers,” Mahbub grunted. “Thou art my new horse-boy. Go and bed among my men. They are near the north end of the station, with the horses.”
“They will beat me to the south end of the station if I come without authority.”
Mahbub felt in his belt, wetted his thumb on a cake of Chinese ink, and dabbed the impression on a piece of soft native paper. From Balkh to Bombay men know that rough-ridged print with the old scar running diagonally across it.
“That is enough to show my headman. I come in the morning.”