pray for a son,' the man called back over his high load. 'Room for
the Queen of Delhi and her Prime Minister the grey monkey climbing
up his own sword!' Another cart loaded with bark for a down-country
tannery followed close behind, and its driver added a few
compliments as the ruth-bullocks backed and backed again.

From behind the shaking curtains came one volley of invective. It
did not last long, but in kind and quality, in blistering, biting
appropriateness, it was beyond anything that even Kim had heard. He
could see the carter's bare chest collapse with amazement, as the
man salaamed reverently to the voice, leaped from the pole, and
helped the escort haul their volcano on to the main road. Here the
voice told him truthfully what sort of wife he had wedded, and what
she was doing in his absence.

'Oh, shabash!' murmured Kim, unable to contain himself, as the man
slunk away.

'Well done, indeed? It is a shame and a scandal that a poor woman
may not go to make prayer to her Gods except she be jostled and
insulted by all the refuse of Hindustan - that she must eat gali
[abuse] as men eat ghi. But I have yet a wag left to my tongue - a
word or two well spoken that serves the occasion. And still am I
without my tobacco! Who is the one-eyed and luckless son of shame
that has not yet prepared my pipe?'

It was hastily thrust in by a hillman, and a trickle of thick smoke
from each corner of the curtains showed that peace was restored.

If Kim had walked proudly the day before, disciple of a holy man,