“He shall indeed. If our neighbour’s brat can in a few years be made an F.A. ” (First Arts—she used the English word, of which she had heard so often), “how much more shall children clever as some that I know bear away prizes at rich Calcutta.”
“Never,” said the voice, “have I seen such a child! Born in an auspicious hour, and—but for that colic which, alas! turning into black cholers, may carry him off like a pigeon—destined to many years, he is enviable.”
“ Hai mai! ” said the old lady. “To praise children is inauspicious, or I could listen to this talk. But the back of the house is unguarded, and even in this soft air men think themselves to be men, and women we know … The child’s father is away too, and I must be chowkedar in my old age. Up! Up! Take up the palanquin. Let the hakim and the young priest settle between them whether charms or medicine most avail. Ho! worthless people, fetch tobacco for the guests, and—round the homestead go I!”
The palanquin reeled off, followed by straggling torches and a horde of dogs. Twenty villages knew the Sahiba—her failings, her tongue, and her large charity. Twenty villages cheated her after immemorial custom, but no man would have stolen or robbed within her jurisdiction for any gift under heaven. None the less, she made great parade of her formal inspections, the riot of which could be heard halfway to Mussoorie.
Kim relaxed, as one augur must when he meets another. The hakim , still squatting, slid over his hookah with a friendly foot, and Kim pulled at the good weed. The hangers-on expected grave professional debate, and perhaps a little free doctoring.
“To discuss medicine before the ignorant is of one piece with teaching the peacock to sing,” said the hakim .