Kim - Rudyard Kipling (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📗

and grey-bearded, sitting the almost mad beast as a piece of her, and scientifically lashing his victim between plunges.

The old man’s face lit with pride. “My child!” said he briefly, and strove to rein the pony’s neck to a fitting arch.

“Am I to be beaten before the police?” cried the carter. “Justice! I will have Justice⁠—”

“Am I to be blocked by a shouting ape who upsets ten thousand sacks under a young horse’s nose? That is the way to ruin a mare.”

“He speaks truth. He speaks truth. But she follows her man close,” said the old man. The carter ran under the wheels of his cart and thence threatened all sorts of vengeance.

“They are strong men, thy sons,” said the policeman serenely, picking his teeth.

The horseman delivered one last vicious cut with his whip and came on at a canter.

“My father!” He reigned back ten yards and dismounted.

The old man was off his pony in an instant, and they embraced as do father and son in the East.

IV

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!

The Wishing-Caps

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, truly. A good follower and a good pony also for the marching. Let us see⁠—let us see.” He thrummed on the pommel.

“This is no place to cast accounts in, my father. Let us go to thy house.”

“At least pay the boy, then: I have no pice with me, and he brought auspicious news. Ho! Friend of all the World, a war is toward as thou hast said.”

“Nay, as I know, the war,” returned Kim composedly.

“Eh?” said the lama, fingering his beads, all eager for the road.

“My master does not trouble the Stars for hire. We brought the news⁠—bear witness, we brought the news, and now we go.” Kim half-crooked his hand at his side.

The son tossed a silver coin through the sunlight, grumbling something about beggars and jugglers. It was a four-anna piece, and would feed them well for days. The lama, seeing the flash of the metal, droned a blessing.

“Go thy way, Friend of all the World,” piped the old soldier, wheeling his scrawny mount. “For once in all my days I have met a true prophet⁠—who was not in the Army.”

Father and son swung round together: the old man sitting as erect as the younger.

A Punjabi constable in yellow linen trousers slouched across the road. He had seen the money pass.

“Halt!” he cried in impressive English. “Know ye not that there is a takkus of two annas a head, which is four annas, on those who enter the Road from this side-road? It is the order of the Sirkar, and the money is spent for the planting of trees and the beautification of the ways.”

“And the bellies of the police,” said Kim, slipping out of arm’s reach. “Consider for a while, man with a mud head. Think you we came from the nearest pond like the frog, thy father-in-law? Hast thou ever heard the name of thy brother?”

“And who was he? Leave the boy alone,” cried a senior constable, immensely delighted, as he squatted down to smoke his pipe in the veranda.

“He took a label from a bottle of belaitee-pani,23 and, affixing it to a bridge, collected taxes for a month from those who passed, saying that it was the Sirkar’s order. Then came an Englishman and broke his head. Ah, brother, I am a town-crow, not a village-crow!”

The policeman drew back abashed, and Kim hooted at him all down the road.

“Was there ever such a disciple as I?” he cried merrily to the lama. “All earth would have picked thy bones within ten mile of Lahore city if I had not guarded thee.”

“I consider in my own mind whether thou art a spirit, sometimes, or sometimes an evil imp,” said the lama, smiling slowly.

“I am thy chela.” Kim dropped into step at his side⁠—that indescribable gait of the long-distance tramp all the world over.

“Now let us walk,” muttered the lama, and to the click of his rosary they walked in silence mile upon mile. The lama as usual, was deep in meditation, but Kim’s bright eyes were open wide. This broad, smiling river of life, he considered, was a vast improvement on the cramped and crowded Lahore streets. There were new people and new sights at every stride⁠—castes he knew and castes that were altogether out of his experience.

They met a troop of long-haired, strong-scented Sansis with baskets of lizards and other unclean food on their backs, their lean dogs sniffing at their heels. These people kept their own side of the road, moving at a quick, furtive