e've brought us luck, an' we're goin' to make a man of you. I'll
take ye back to your baggage-cart and ye'll come to me this evening.'

For the rest of the day Kim found himself an object of distinguished
consideration among a few hundred white men. The story of his
appearance in camp, the discovery of his parentage, and his prophecy,
had lost nothing in the telling. A big, shapeless white woman on a
pile of bedding asked him mysteriously whether he thought her husband
would come back from the war. Kim reflected gravely, and said that he
would, and the woman gave him food. In many respects, this big
procession that played music at intervals--this crowd that talked and
laughed so easily--resembled a festival in Lahore city. So far, there
was no sign of hard work, and he resolved to lend the spectacle his
patronage. At evening there came out to meet them bands of music, and
played the Mavericks into camp near Umballa railway station. That was
an interesting night. Men of other regiments came to visit the
Mavericks. The Mavericks went visiting on their own account. Their
pickets hurried forth to bring them back, met pickets of strange
regiments on the same duty; and, after a while, the bugles blew madly
for more pickets with officers to control the tumult. The Mavericks
had a reputation for liveliness to live up to. But they fell in on the
platform next morning in perfect shape and condition; and Kim, left
behind with the sick, women, and boys, found himself shouting farewells
excitedly as the trains drew away. Life as a Sahib was amusing so far;
but he touched it with a cautious hand. Then they marched him back in
charge of a drummer-boy to empty, lime-washed barracks, whose floors
were covered with rubbish and string and paper, and whose ceilings gave
back his lonely footfall. Native-fashion, he curled himself up on a
stripped cot and went to sleep. An angry man stumped down the veranda,
woke him up, and said he was a schoolmaster. This was enough for Kim,
and he retired into his shell. He could just puzzle out the various
English Police notices in Lahore city, because they affected his
comfort; and among the many guests of the woman who looked after him
had been a queer German who painted scenery for the Parsee travelling
theatre. He told Kim that he had been 'on the barricades in
'Forty-eight,' and therefore--at least that was how it struck Kim--he
would teach the boy to write in return for food. Ki