'Ay, and here they cut our tickets,' said the banker, fumbling at
his belt.

The lamps were paling in the dawn when the half-caste guard came
round. Ticket-collecting is a slow business in the East, where
people secrete their tickets in all sorts of curious places. Kim
produced his and was told to get out.

'But I go to Umballa,' he protested. 'I go with this holy man.'

'Thou canst go to Jehannum for aught I care. This ticket is only -'

Kim burst into a flood of tears, protesting that the lama was his
father and his mother, that he was the prop of the lama's
declining years, and that the lama would die without his care.
All the carriage bade the guard be merciful - the banker was
specially eloquent here - but the guard hauled Kim on to the
platform. The lama blinked - he could not overtake the situation
and Kim lifted up his voice and wept outside the carriage
window.

'I am very poor. My father is dead - my mother is dead. O
charitable ones, if I am left here, who shall tend that old man?'

'What - what is this?' the lama repeated. 'He must go to Benares.
He must come with me. He is my chela. If there is money to be
paid -'

'Oh, be silent,' whispered Kim; 'are we Rajahs to throw away good