n bounds.
He styled all natives 'niggers'; yet servants and sweepers called him
abominable names to his face, and, misled by their deferential
attitude, he never understood. This somewhat consoled Kim for the
beatings.

On the morning of the fourth day a judgement overtook that drummer.
They had gone out together towards Umballa racecourse. He returned
alone, weeping, with news that young O'Hara, to whom he had been doing
nothing in particular, had hailed a scarlet-bearded nigger on
horseback; that the nigger had then and there laid into him with a
peculiarly adhesive quirt, picked up young O'Hara, and borne him off at
full gallop. These tidings came to Father Victor, and he drew down his
long upper lip. He was already sufficiently startled by a letter from
the Temple of the Tirthankars at Benares, enclosing a native banker's
note of hand for three hundred rupees, and an amazing prayer to
'Almighty God'. The lama would have been more annoyed than the priest
had he known how the bazar letter-writer had translated his phrase 'to
acquire merit.'

'Powers of Darkness below!' Father Victor fumbled with the note. 'An'
now he's off with another of his peep-o'-day friends. I don't know
whether it will be a greater relief to me to get him back or to have
him lost. He's beyond my comprehension. How the Divil--yes, he's the
man I mean--can a street-beggar raise money to educate white boys?'

Three miles off, on Umballa racecourse, Mahbub Ali, reining a grey
Kabuli stallion with Kim in front of him, was saying:

'But, Little Friend of all the World, there is my honour and reputation
to be considered. All the officer-Sahibs in all the regiments, and all
Umballa, know Mahbub Ali. Men saw me pick thee up and chastise that
boy. We are seen now from far across this plain. How can I take thee
away, or account for thy disappearing if I set thee down and let thee
run off into the crops? They would put me in jail. Be patient. Once
a Sahib, always a Sahib. When thou art a man--who knows?--thou wilt be
grateful to Mahbub Ali.'

'Take me beyond their sentries where I can change this red. Give me
money and I will go to Benares and be with my lama again. I do not
want to be a Sahib, and remember I did deliver that message.'

The stallion bounded wildly. Mahbub Ali had incautiously driven home
the sharp-edged stirrup. (He was not the new sort of fluent
horse-dealer who wears English boots and spurs.) Kim drew his own