There was a shout of laughter from the full tent.

'When you know your own Regiment a trifle better you won't confuse
the line of march with line of battle, Kim. We hope to go to "thee
War" sometime.'

'Oah, I know all thatt.' Kim drew his bow again at a venture. If
they were not going to the war, at least they did not know what he
knew of the talk in the veranda at Umballa.

'I know you are not at thee war now; but I tell you that as soon as
you get to Umballa you will be sent to the war - the new war. It is
a war of eight thousand men, besides the guns.'

'That's explicit. D'you add prophecy to your other gifts? Take him
along, sergeant. Take up a suit for him from the Drums, an' take
care he doesn't slip through your fingers. Who says the age of
miracles is gone by? I think I'll go to bed. My poor mind's
weakening.'

At the far end of the camp, silent as a wild animal, an hour later
sat Kim, newly washed all over, in a horrible stiff suit that
rasped his arms and legs.

'A most amazin' young bird,' said the sergeant. 'He turns up in
charge of a yellow-headed buck-Brahmin priest, with his father's
Lodge certificates round his neck, talkin' God knows what all of a
red bull. The buck-Brahmin evaporates without explanations, an' the
bhoy sets cross-legged on the Chaplain's bed prophesyin' bloody war
to the men at large. Injia's a wild land for a God-fearin' man.