the son of some man in the regiment: according to the prophecy of
the Red Bull, which thou knowest was common talk of our bazar.' Kim
waited for this shaft to sink into the letter-writer's heart,
cleared his throat, and continued: 'A priest clothed me and gave me
a new name ... One priest, however, was a fool. The clothes are
very heavy, but I am a Sahib and my heart is heavy too. They send
me to a school and beat me. I do not like the air and water here.
Come then and help me, Mahbub Ali, or send me some money, for I
have not sufficient to pay the writer who writes this.'

' "Who writes this." It is my own fault that I was tricked. Thou
art as clever as Husain Bux that forged the Treasury stamps at
Nucklao. But what a tale! What a tale! Is it true by any chance?'

'It does not profit to tell lies to Mahbub Ali. It is better to
help his friends by lending them a stamp. When the money comes I
will repay.'

The writer grunted doubtfully, but took a stamp out of his desk,
sealed the letter, handed it over to Kim, and departed. Mahbub
Ali's was a name of power in Umballa.

'That is the way to win a good account with the Gods,' Kim shouted
after him.

'Pay me twice over when the money comes,' the man cried over his
shoulder.

'What was you bukkin' to that nigger about?' said the drummer-boy
when Kim returned to the veranda. 'I was watch-in' you.'