Good Luck, she is never a lady, But the cursedest quean alive, Tricksy, wincing, and jady— Kittle to lead or drive. Greet her—she’s hailing a stranger! Meet her—she’s busking to leave! Let her alone for a shrew to the bone And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve! Largesse! Largesse, O Fortune! Give or hold at your will. If I’ve no care for Fortune, Fortune must follow me still!
Then, lowering their voices, they spoke together. Kim came to rest under a tree, but the lama tugged impatiently at his elbow.
“Let us go on. The River is not here.”
“ Hai mai! Have we not walked enough for a little? Our River will not run away. Patience, and he will give us a dole.”
“That,” said the old soldier suddenly, “is the Friend of the Stars. He brought me the news yesterday. Having seen the very man Himself, in a vision, giving orders for the war.”
“Hm!” said his son, all deep in his broad chest. “He came by a bazaar-rumour and made profit of it.”
His father laughed. “At least he did not ride to me begging for a new charger, and the Gods know how many rupees. Are thy brothers’ regiments also under orders?”
“I do not know. I took leave and came swiftly to thee in case—”
“In case they ran before thee to beg. O gamblers and spendthrifts all! But thou hast never yet ridden in a charge. A good horse is needed there,