‘Well,’ said Father Victor in English, when Kim had translated, ’that depends. The Regiment would pay for you all the time you are at the Military Orphanage; or you might go on the Punjab Masonic Orphanage’s list (not that he or you ’ud understand what that means); but the best schooling a boy can get in India is, of course, at St Xavier’s in Partibus at Lucknow.’ This took some time to interpret, for Bennett wished to cut it short.
‘He wants to know how much?’ said Kim placidly.
‘Two or three hundred rupees a year.’ Father Victor was long past any sense of amazement. Bennett, impatient, did not understand.
’He says: “Write that name and the money upon a paper and give it him.” And he says you must write your name below, because he is going to write a letter in some days to you. He says you are a good man. He says the other man is a fool. He is going away.’
The lama rose suddenly. ‘I follow my Search,’ he cried, and was gone.
‘He’ll run slap into the sentries,’ cried Father Victor, jumping up as the lama stalked out; ‘but I can’t leave the boy.’ Kim made swift motion to follow, but checked himself. There was no sound of challenge outside. The lama had disappeared.
Kim settled himself composedly on the Chaplain’s cot. At least the lama had promised that he would stay with the Raiput woman from Kulu, and the rest was of the smallest importance. It pleased him that the two padres were so evidently excited. They talked long in undertones, Father Victor urging some scheme on Mr Bennett, who seemed incredulous. All this was very new and fascinating, but Kim felt sleepy. They called men into the tent — one of them certainly was the Colonel, as his father had prophesied — and they asked him an infinity of questions, chiefly about the woman who looked after him, all of which Kim answered truthfully. They did not seem to think the woman a good guardian.
After all, this was the newest of his experiences. Sooner or later, if he chose, he could escape into great, grey, formless India, beyond tents and padres and colonels. Meantime, if the Sahibs were to be impressed, he would do his best to impress them. He too was a white man.
After much talk that he could not comprehend, they handed him over to a sergeant, who had strict instructions not to let him escape. The Regiment would go on to Umballa, and Kim would be sent up, partly at the expense of the Lodge and in part by subscription, to a place called Sanawar.
‘It’s miraculous past all whooping, Colonel,’ said Father Victor, when he had talked without a break for ten minutes. ’His Buddhist friend has levanted after taking my name and address. I can’t quite make out whether he’ll pay for the boy’s education or whether he is preparing some sort of witchcraft on his own account.’ Then to Kim: ’You’ll live to be grateful to your friend the Red Bull yet. We’ll make a man of you at Sanawar — even at the price o’ making you a Protestant.’