under his nose, gave them senseless names and whacked him without
reason. Kim meditated poisoning him with opium borrowed from a
barrack-sweeper, but reflected that, as they all ate at one table
in public (this was peculiarly revolting to Kim, who preferred to
turn his back on the world at meals), the stroke might be dangerous.
Then he attempted running off to the village where the priest had tried
to drug the lama -- the village where the old soldier lived. But far-seeing
sentries at every exit headed back the little scarlet figure.
Trousers and jacket crippled body and mind alike so he abandoned the project and fell back,
Oriental-fashion, on
time and chance. Three days of torment passed in the big, echoing
white rooms. He walked out of afternoons under escort of the
drummer-boy, and all he heard from his companions were the few
useless words which seemed to make two-thirds of the white man's
abuse. Kim knew and despised them all long ago. The boy resented
his silence and lack of interest by beating him, as was only
natural. He did not care for any of the bazars which were in
bounds. He styled all natives 'niggers'; yet servants and sweepers
called him abominable names to his face, and, misled by their
deferential attitude, he never understood. This somewhat consoled
Kim for the beatings.

On the morning of the fourth day a judgement overtook that drummer.
They had gone out together towards Umballa racecourse. He returned
alone, weeping, with news that young O'Hara, to whom he had been
doing nothing in particular, had hailed a scarlet-bearded nigger on
horseback; that the nigger had then and there laid into him with a
peculiarly adhesive quirt, picked up young O'Hara, and borne him
off at full gallop. These tidings came to Father Victor, and he
drew down his long upper lip. He was already sufficiently startled