Followedtheusualaimlessbabblethateverylow-castenativemustraiseoneveryoccasion。Itdieddown，andKimlayoutbehindthelittleknotofMahbub’sfollowers，almostunderthewheelsofahorse-truck，aborrowedblanketforcovering。Nowabedamongbrickbatsandballast-refuseonadampnight，betweenovercrowdedhorsesandunwashedBaltis，wouldnotappealtomanywhiteboys；butKimwasutterlyhappy。Changeofscene，service，andsurroundingswerethebreathofhislittlenostrils，andthinkingoftheneatwhitecotsofStXavier’sallarowunderthepunkahgavehimjoyaskeenastherepetitionofthemultiplication-tableinEnglish。
`Iamveryold，’hethoughtsleepily。`EverymonthIbecomeayearmoreold。Iwasveryyoung，andafooltoboot，whenItookMahbub’smessagetoUmballa。EvenwhenIwaswiththatwhiteRegimentIwasveryyoungandsmallandhadnowisdom。ButnowIlearneveryday，andinthreeyearstheColonelwilltakemeoutofthemadrissahandletmegoupontheRoadwithMahbubhuntingforhorses’pedigrees，ormaybeIshallgobymyself；ormaybeIshallfindthelamaandgowithhim。Yes；thatisbest。TowalkagainasachelawithmylamawhenhecomesbacktoBenares。’Thethoughtscamemoreslowlyanddisconnectedly。Hewasplungingintoabeautifuldreamlandwhenhisearscaughtawhisper，thinandsharp，abovethemonotonousbabbleroundthefire。Itcamefrombehindtheiron-skinnedhorse-truck。
`Heisnothere，then？’
`Whereshouldhebebutroysteringinthecity。Wholooksforaratinafrog-pond？Comeaway。Heisnotourman。’
`HemustnotgobackbeyondthePassesasecondtime。Itistheorder。’