'Plays polo and waits at table. Yes. We know all that. What the
deuce have you got there?'

'A. boy,' said Mahbub gravely. 'He was being beaten by another boy.
His father was once a white soldier in the big war. The boy was a
child in Lahore city. He played with my horses when he was a babe.
Now I think they will make him a soldier. He has been newly caught
by his father's Regiment that went up to the war last week. But I
do not think he wants to be a soldier. I take him for a ride. Tell
me where thy barracks are and I will set thee there.'

'Let me go. I can find the barracks alone.'

'And if thou runnest away who will say it is not my fault?'

'He'll run back to his dinner. Where has he to run to?' the
Englishman asked.

'He was born in the land. He has friends. He goes where he chooses.
He is a chabuk sawai [a sharp chap]. It needs only to change his
clothing, and in a twinkling he would be a low-caste Hindu boy.'

'The deuce he would!' The Englishman looked critically at the boy
as Mahbub headed towards the barracks. Kim ground his teeth. Mahbub
was mocking him, as faithless Afghans will; for he went on:

'They will send him to a school and put heavy boots on his feet and
swaddle him in these clothes. Then he will forget all he knows.
Now, which of the barracks is thine?'