tumbled into the compartment, as the train was moving off, a mean, lean little person — a Mahratta, so far as Kim could judge by the cock of the tight turban.  His face was cut, his muslin upper-garment was badly torn, and one leg was bandaged.  He told them that a country-cart had upset and nearly slain him:  he was going to Delhi, where his son lived.  Kim watched him closely.  If, as he asserted, he had been rolled over and over on the earth, there should have been signs of gravel-rash on the skin.  But all his injuries seemed clean cuts, and a mere fall from a cart could not cast a man into such extremity of terror.  As, with shaking fingers, he knotted up the torn cloth about his neck he laid bare an amulet of the kind called a keeper-up of the heart.  Now, amulets are common enough, but they are not generally strung on square-plaited copper wire, and still fewer amulets bear black enamel on silver.  There were none except the Kamboh and the lama in the compartment, which, luckily, was of an old type with solid ends.  Kim made as to scratch in his bosom, and thereby lifted his own amulet.  The Mahratta’s face changed altogether at the sight, and he disposed the amulet fairly on his breast.

‘Yes,’ he went on to the Kamboh, ’I was in haste, and the cart, driven by a bastard, bound its wheel in a water-cut, and besides the harm done to me there was lost a full dish of tarkeean.  I was not a Son of the Charm [a lucky man] that day.’

‘That was a great loss,’ said the Kamboh, withdrawing interest.  His experience of Benares had made him suspicious.

‘Who cooked it?’ said Kim.

‘A woman.’  The Mahratta raised his eyes.

‘But all women can cook tarkeean,’ said the Kamboh.  ’It is a good curry, as I know.’

‘Oh yes, it is a good curry,’ said the Mahratta.

‘And cheap,’ said Kim.  ‘But what about caste?’

‘Oh, there is no caste where men go to — look for tarkeean,’ the Mahratta replied, in the prescribed cadence.  ’Of whose service art thou?’

‘Of the service of this Holy One.’  Kim pointed to the happy, drowsy lama, who woke with a jerk at the well-loved word.

’Ah, he was sent from Heaven to aid me.  He is called the Friend of all the World.  He is also called the Friend of the Stars.  He walks as a physician — his time being ripe.  Great is his wisdom.’

‘And a Son of the Charm,’ said Kim under his breath, as the Kamboh made haste to prepare a pipe lest the Mahratta should beg.

‘And who is that?’ the Mahratta asked, glancing sideways nervously.

’One whose child I — we have cured, who lies under great debt to us.  Sit by the window, man from Jullundur.  Here is a sick one.’

’Humph!  I have no desire to mix with chance-met wastrels.  My ears are not long.  I am not a woman wishing to overhear secrets.’  The Jat slid himself heavily into a far corner.

‘Art thou anything of a healer?  I am ten leagues deep in calamity,’ cried the Mahratta, picking up the cue.