The lama flinched a little as the telegraph-posts swung by.
'Great is the speed of the te-rain,' said the banker, with a patronizing grin.

'We have gone farther since Lahore than thou couldst walk in two days: at even, we shall enter Umballa.' 'And that is still far from Benares,' said the lama wearily, mumbling over the cakes that Kim offered.

They all unloosed their bundles and made their morning meal.

Then the banker, the cultivator, and the soldier prepared their pipes and wrapped the compartment in choking, acrid smoke, spitting and coughing and enjoying themselves.

The Sikh and the cultivator's wife chewed pan; the lama took snuff and told his beads, while Kim, cross-legged, smiled over the comfort of a full stomach.
'What rivers have ye by Benares ?' said the lama of a sudden to the carriage at large.
'We have Gunga,' returned the banker, when the little titter had subsided.
'What others ?' 'What other than Gunga ?' 'Nay, but in my mind was the thought of a certain River of healing.' 'That is Gunga.