‘Their mothers were bazar-women,’ said Kim.  He knew well there is no hatred like that of the half-caste for his brother-in-law.

’True; but thou art a Sahib and the son of a Sahib.  Therefore, do not at any time be led to contemn the black men.  I have known boys newly entered into the service of the Government who feigned not to understand the talk or the customs of black men.  Their pay was cut for ignorance.  There is no sin so great as ignorance.  Remember this.’

Several times in the course of the long twenty-four hours’ run south did the Colonel send for Kim, always developing this latter text.

‘We be all on one lead-rope, then,’ said Kim at last, ’the Colonel, Mahbub Ali, and I — when I become a chain-man.  He will use me as Mahbub Ali employed me, I think.  That is good, if it allows me to return to the Road again.  This clothing grows no easier by wear.’

When they came to the crowded Lucknow station there was no sign of the lama.  He swallowed his disappointment, while the Colonel bundled him into a ticca-gharri with his neat belongings and despatched him alone to St Xavier’s.

‘I do not say farewell, because we shall meet again,’ he cried.  ’Again, and many times, if thou art one of good spirit.  But thou art not yet tried.’

‘Not when I brought thee’ — Kim actually dared to use the turn of equals — ‘a white stallion’s pedigree that night?’

‘Much is gained by forgetting, little brother,’ said the Colonel, with a look that pierced through Kim’s shoulder-blades as he scuttled into the carriage.

It took him nearly five minutes to recover.  Then he sniffed the new air appreciatively.  ‘A rich city,’ he said.  ’Richer than Lahore.  How good the bazars must be!  Coachman, drive me a little through the bazars here.’

‘My order is to take thee to the school.’  The driver used the ‘thou’, which is rudeness when applied to a white man.  In the clearest and most fluent vernacular Kim pointed out his error, climbed on to the box-seat, and, perfect understanding established, drove for a couple of hours up and down, estimating, comparing, and enjoying.  There is no city — except Bombay, the queen of all — more beautiful in her garish style than Lucknow, whether you see her from the bridge over the river, or from the top of the Imambara looking down on the gilt umbrellas of the Chutter Munzil, and the trees in which the town is bedded.  Kings have adorned her with fantastic buildings, endowed her with charities, crammed her with pensioners, and drenched her with blood.  She is the centre of all idleness, intrigue, and luxury, and shares with Delhi the claim to talk the only pure Urdu.

‘A fair city — a beautiful city.’  The driver, as a Lucknow man, was pleased with the compliment, and told Kim many astounding things where an English guide would have talked of the Mutiny.

‘Now we will go to the school,’ said Kim at last.  The great old school of St Xavier’s in Partibus, block on block of low white buildings, stands in vast grounds over against the Gumti River, at some distance from the city.