'There is the Padre!' Kim choked as bare-headed Father Victor
sailed down upon them from the veranda.

'Powers O' Darkness below, O'Hara! How many more mixed friends do
you keep in Asia?' he cried, as Kim slid down and stood helplessly
before him.

'Good morning, Padre,' the Englishman said cheerily. 'I know you by
reputation well enough. Meant to have come over and called before
this. I'm Creighton.'

'Of the Ethnological Survey?' said Father Victor. The Englishman
nodded. 'Faith, I'm glad to meet ye then; an' I owe you some thanks
for bringing back the boy.'

'No thanks to me, Padre. Besides, the boy wasn't going away. You
don't know old Mahbub Ali.' The horse-dealer sat impassive in the
sunlight. 'You will when you have been in the station a month. He
sells us all our crocks. That boy is rather a curiosity. Can you
tell me anything about him?'

'Can I tell you?' puffed Father Victor. 'You'll be the one man that
could help me in my quandaries. Tell you! Powers o' Darkness, I'm
bursting to tell someone who knows something o' the native!'

A groom came round the corner. Colonel Creighton raised his voice,
speaking in Urdu. 'Very good, Mahbub Ali, but what is the use of
telling me all those stories about the pony? Not one pice more than
three hundred and fifty rupees will I give.'