“How soon can we get the colt from the stable?” said the horse-dealer, reading his eyes.
“Hmm! If I withdraw him by order now—what will he do, think you? I have never before assisted at the teaching of such an one.”
“He will come to me,” said Mahbub promptly. “Lurgan Sahib and I will prepare him for the Road.”
“So be it, then. For six months he shall run at his choice. But who will be his sponsor?”
Lurgan slightly inclined his head. “He will not tell anything, if that is what you are afraid of, Colonel Creighton.”
“It’s only a boy, after all.”
“Ye-es; but first, he has nothing to tell; and secondly, he knows what would happen. Also, he is very fond of Mahbub, and of me a little.”
“Will he draw pay?” demanded the practical horse-dealer.
“Food and water allowance only. Twenty rupees a month.”
One advantage of the Secret Service is that it has no worrying audit. That Service is ludicrously starved, of course, but the funds are administered by a few men who do not call for vouchers or present itemized accounts. Mahbub’s eyes lighted with almost a Sikh’s love of money. Even Lurgan’s impassive face changed. He considered the years to come when Kim would have been entered and made to the Great Game that never ceases day and night, throughout India. He foresaw honour and credit in the mouths of a chosen few, coming to him from his pupil. Lurgan Sahib had made E.23 what E.23 was, out of a bewildered, impertinent, lying, little North-West Province man.