“When all is ready, thy sons, doubt not, will be told. But it is a long road from thy sons to the man in whose hands these things lie.” Kim warmed to the game, for it reminded him of experiences in the letter-carrying line, when, for the sake of a few pice, he pretended to know more than he knew. But now he was playing for larger things—the sheer excitement and the sense of power. He drew a new breath and went on.
“Old man, give me a sign. Do underlings order the goings of eight thousand redcoats—with guns?”
“No.” Still the old man answered as though Kim were an equal.
“Dost thou know who He is, then, that gives the order?”
“I have seen Him.”
“To know again?”
“I have known Him since he was a lieutenant in the top-khana .”
“A tall man. A tall man with black hair, walking thus?” Kim took a few paces in a stiff, wooden style.
“Ay. But that anyone may have seen.” The crowd were breathless—still through all this talk.
“That is true,” said Kim. “But I will say more. Look now. First the great man walks thus. Then He thinks thus.” (Kim drew a forefinger over his forehead and downwards till it came to rest by the angle of the jaw.) “Anon He twitches his fingers thus. Anon He thrusts his hat under his left armpit.” Kim illustrated the motion and stood like a stork.
The old man groaned, inarticulate with amazement; and the crowd shivered.
“So—so—so. But what does He when He is about to give an order?”