e step
at a time in this world, praise God! An' they sent Bennett to the Front
an' left me behind. Bennett can't expect everything.'

'Oah yess,' said Kim vaguely.

The priest leaned forward. 'I'd give a month's pay to find what's
goin' on inside that little round head of yours.'

'There is nothing,' said Kim, and scratched it. He was wondering
whether Mahbub Ali would send him as much as a whole rupee. Then he
could pay the letter-writer and write letters to the lama at Benares.
Perhaps Mahbub Ali would visit him next time he came south with horses.
Surely he must know that Kim's delivery of the letter to the officer at
Umballa had caused the great war which the men and boys had discussed
so loudly over the barrack dinner-tables. But if Mahbub Ali did not
know this, it would be very unsafe to tell him so. Mahbub Ali was hard
upon boys who knew, or thought they knew, too much.

'Well, till I get further news'--Father Victor's voice interrupted the
reverie. 'Ye can run along now and play with the other boys. They'll
teach ye something--but I don't think ye'll like it.'

The day dragged to its weary end. When he wished to sleep he was
instructed how to fold up his clothes and set out his boots; the other
boys deriding. Bugles waked him in the dawn; the schoolmaster caught
him after breakfast, thrust a page of meaningless characters under his
nose, gave them senseless names and whacked him without reason. Kim
meditated poisoning him with opium borrowed from a barrack-sweeper, but
reflected that, as they all ate at one table in public (this was
peculiarly revolting to Kim, who preferred to turn his back on the
world at meals), the stroke might be dangerous. Then he attempted
running off to the village where the priest had tried to drug the
lama--the village where the old soldier lived. But far-seeing sentries
at every exit headed back the little scarlet figure. Trousers and
jacket crippled body and mind alike so he abandoned the project and
fell back, Oriental-fashion, on time and chance. Three days of torment
passed in the big, echoing white rooms. He walked out of afternoons
under escort of the drummer-boy, and all he heard from his companions
were the few useless words which seemed to make two-thirds of the white
man's abuse. Kim knew and despised them all long ago. The boy
resented his silence and lack of interest by beating him, as was only
natural. He did not care for any of the bazars which were i