Ohe, bhisti!' he called to the water-carrier, sluicing the crotons by the Museum.

'Give water here.

We men are thirsty.' 'We men!' said the bhisti, laughing.

'Is one skinful enough for such a pair?
Drink, then, in the name of the Compassionate.' He loosed a thin stream into Kim's hands, who drank native fashion; but the lama must needs pull out a cup from his inexhaustible upper draperies and drink ceremonially.
'Pardesi [a foreigner],' Kim explained, as the old man delivered in an unknown tongue what was evidently a blessing.
They ate together in great content, clearing the beggingbowl.

Then the lama took snuff from a portentous wooden snuff-gourd, fingered his rosary awhile, and so dropped into the easy sleep of age, as the shadow of Zam-Zammah grew long.
Kim loafed over to the nearest tobacco-seller, a rather lively young Mohammedan woman, and begged a rank cigar of the brand that they sell to students of the Punjab University who copy English customs.