desert to Jidhpore, where Mahbub and his handsome nephew Habib-Allah did much trading; and then sorrowfully, in European clothes, which he was fast outgrowing, Kim went second-class to St. Xavier's. Three weeks later, Colonel Creighton, pricing Tibetan ghost-daggers at Lurgan's shop, faced Mahbub Ali openly mutinous. Lurgan Sahib operated as support in reserve.
'The pony is made—finished—mouthed and paced, Sahib. From now on, day by day, he will lose his manners if he is kept at tricks. Loose the rein on his back and let go,' said the horse-dealer. 'We need him.'
'But he is so young, Mahbub—not more than sixteen—is he?'
'When I was fifteen, I had shot my man and begot my man, Sahib.'
'You impertinent old heathen.' Creighton turned to Lurgan. The black beard nodded assent to the wisdom of the Afghan's dyed scarlet.
'I should have used him long ago,' said Lurgan. 'The younger the better. That is why I always have my really valuable jewels watched by a child. You sent him to me to try. I tried him in every way: he is the only boy I could not make to see things.'
'In the crystal—in the ink-pool?' demanded Mahbub.
'No. Under my hand, as I told you. That was quite unique. I was annoyed. With an older man to guide him on the road, he would have been fit for work then. And that is three years ago. I have taught him a good deal since, Colonel Creighton. I think you waste him now.'
'Hmm! Maybe you're right. But, as you know, there is no survey work for him at present.'
'Let him out—let him go,' Mahbub interrupted. 'Who expects any colt to carry heavy weight at first? Let him run with
